


One, Cartridge, Two, Recover, Three, Live

by JohnLear



Series: Breaking it in [1]
Category: Shefani, The Voice (US) RPF
Genre: AU, Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-17 12:30:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 58,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9323690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnLear/pseuds/JohnLear
Summary: Gwen agrees to spend her holiday with her good friend Adam and his family. Traveling to Canada were Adam's older brother lives, withdrawn from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant Northern Wilderness, Gwen truly starts to understand what it means to survive, and what it means to finally start living.





	1. To battle is the only way we feel alive.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this chapter is from the amazing song Alibi, by Thirty seconds to Mars, as are the lyrics to start the chapter. I recommend giving it a listen as this song was most of my inspiration for writing this chapter.

_ I fell apart, but got back up again,  _ _ And then I fell apart, but got back up again. _

_   
_

_ Manitoba, Canada _

The mornings were Adam could go for a mildly chilly run, where the wind was not as crisp and the concrete not as sharp, but rather just a gentle breeze to wipe the perspiration from his brow and a street glazed in asphalt to soften the blow of his sprint, those were the mornings he craved. This morning, however, his legs carried him no further than to his jaguar, where it was neatly parked in the resort’s stainless carport. It neared twelve by the time he managed to weave through the winding roads of Northern Canada’s wilderness, making his way down to Manitoba. Hot coffee proved to be an afterthought as he had not made any before he left. Where he was going, he needed the mental stimulant only caffeine could provide. He did not dwell too much on the drink as he greeted Gretchen at the facility's counter, briefly flashing his visitor’s pass. She graced him with a beautiful smile, simultaneously waving him in.    


“Doctor Livingston will be with you in a moment, Mr. Levine.”  


“I’m in no rush. He isn’t coming home until Monday.” His voice trails off as he strides down the hall, his steps subdued and inaudible. Afternoon sunlight bathed the doctor’s office with a dull gold hue. Outside, pools of darkened clouds broke up and passed before the sun, cracking light at every angle. He expected to wait five minutes but was greeted in three.  


“I’m sorry about the wait, Mr. Levine.”  


“I’m early.” He smiled and sat down in his usual chair opposite the good doctor after shaking the man’s hand.    


“First thing on the agenda, he’s been sober for four months. He has made excellent strides in that department and we are all very proud of him. Second..” Adam watches his veiny, decrepit hands flip through manila papers. “The violent outbursts have been less and less since we put him on the new medication. Now, he isn’t depressed but I am worried that his behavior has become...despondent at times. It’s like he’s coherent but not all the way there when you try to have a conversation with him.”  


“Should we be worried?”  


“It’s likely that his condition is stemming from being here,” the doctor said apologetically. “It’s not unusual for some patients to see this facility for what it is. And that can sometimes be hard on the mind and of course that manifests itself into odd...conduct, specifically social skills.”  


“Maverick are you saying you turned my brother into some sort of anti-social zombie that will never communicate--I guess in your terms..effectively, ever again?”  


The older gentleman smoothed back thinning grey hair and fussed with his glasses, his weak smile never disappearing fully. “Absolutely not. He is, for the most part, very happy and responsive. It’s just not as enthusiastically as we  _ hoped _ for.”   


Adam fixed the doctor with an unimpressed stare.  


Maverick continued on. “You just have to understand that the body experiences certain highs and lows when it is introduced to certain analeptics. Your brother has basically, if I may be blunt, been self-medicating his existence for years. Not to mention the fact that it has been in an environment that might not have encouraged it but turned a blind eye, nonetheless. Here, is a safe place, but it is also unstimulating for him. From our talks, I can only assume that he feels trapped, within himself and in the world. And as you can see Mr. Levine, the world is a very big place to feel like you’ve been confined. I’m sure it will get better when he returns home.”  


Adam sighed, “But he is still Blake, right? I’ll look at him and still see the Blake I know and love.”  


“Adam...he’s changed. I like to think for the better, but I didn’t grow up with the man. He might act a little different than what you are used to, but I assure you, that when you do look at him, you won’t see the same broken man you checked in six months ago. And I want you to know, that he did his best. And I did my best. And that’s all you can ever hope for sometimes.”  


Normally, the man was the embodiment of serene confidence, a wholesome man made to incite trust and a calm surety that anyone given into his care, no matter how troubled or ill, would be helped. His whole aura inspired personal modifications for eventual growth. Now, though, his expression was tight and nervous, not fearful but desperate. Adam could understand that--being desperate. Or at least he made several attempts to.  


“I want to take him home.” Adam demanded smoothly, not hiding the steel under his polite tone of voice.  


“Yes, um..Monday I think we cleared for him.”  


“No, I mean now. I want to take him home now.”  


The glasses came off, twisted between pudgy fingers. “Your brother’s treatment is technically complete, at least physiologically. But I’ll need at least another week to help him with controlling the addiction, methods and such to prevent a relapse.”  


“You can call him about that, schedule appointments. I’m sure if my brother wants to drown himself in a bottle again a week's difference isn’t going to change anything.”  


“It’s not just about a setback, Mr. Levine. Certain consequences can arise with addiction and he could turn back to his old demons, not just for a quick hit, but as an alternative for something else.”  


“Like?’  


“Suicide, actually.”  


Adam closed his eyes a moment too long to qualify as a blink. “My brother isn’t suicidal,” he said flatly.  


“Not now--”  


“No, sir. I mean, he has never been, nor will he ever be.”  


Maverick bared his teeth again and shoved the glasses back into place, smudging one lens with his thumb. He huffed anxiously and pulled them off. “Your brother should be the one in denial--”  


“But he’s not. He’s fine. And I want to take him home now,” Adam interrupted sharply.  


The doctor looked at him firmly, their gazes harboring on hostile footing. It was ironic given the very building they were sitting in was supposed to cure the confrontational and vitriolic.  


“I’ll wait with Gretchen while he packs his things. Thank you Doctor for everything you did. I do believe you saved him from himself this time.”  


Maverick cleared his throat. “With all due respect, I didn’t save him. I imagine someone will come along and succeed in that area one day. But he still has a lot of work to do.”  


Adam nods his head before standing up. His hand is on the door when the doctor’s voice reaches his ears, somewhat tentatively. “Keep an eye out for him, will you? He was a pleasure to have as a patient, all things considered.”  


The younger man looks over his shoulder, a small insignificant smile painted on his lips like a brushstroke. “Will do.”  


  


* * *

  


  


He sat in his car, instead. The room felt too stifling, and Gretchen’s eyes felt too sincere. Adam laughed to himself, rubbing his hazel eyes furiously. He scolded himself for the action and decided to press his fingertips together as an alternative, giving another slow, thoughtful blink. He recognized the morose feeling boiling in the pit of his stomach and spreading like wildfire throughout his befouled blood. It was fear. Really, he wasn’t surprised. This was Blake’s third run through rehab, and there was no concrete evidence to point to any more of a success than the first two attempts. At least not yet. He could be a saint in rehab and the devil in the real world for all Adam knew, speaking from past experience of course. 

Simply put, Adam was afraid of going backwards in life, but that fear never resonated within his brother. Blake never took a step back. Even when he relapsed. It was like he failed again for an entirely new purpose. He was not like the regular junkie or alcoholic. Those people accepted defeat too easily. His brother was never defeated by his plight. Every time he OD’ed, it was like he had been trying to race towards a  _ future _ that was nothing more than a blank wall to outsiders, a spectacular crash and fireball, no survivors, including himself. He never went back to the supplements for the same reason as before and his relentless tenacity was admirable in a fucked up kind of way. But even with all the resources Adam had at his disposal, he had so far proved inadequate to the task of showing his brilliant, self-destructive brother that there was life beyond thirty. The worst part was that Adam understood. He understood exactly what the doctor was trying to tell him back in that posh office. He knew what it was like to be trapped, overwhelmed, drowning in the sensory input, thoughts outpacing the world around him. But where Adam had channeled his energy into building his record company and starting a family, Blake had floundered, never latching onto anything but his guitar and a morbid interest in war. He was a decorated soldier to be so young. He came home littered down in golden medals, disfigured and broken.   


And then, he’d found drugs. And rediscovered his love of alcohol.  


Adam had once asked Blake why he would risk destroying himself for artificial bliss--especially when all of it was so chemically toxic. “Some days I had to make the judgment call on a little kid. Was he a terrorist? Maybe a product of his environment? Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. You never fully know over there. If a kid is a just a kid. Not until after you shoot them dead in the street, and you see him carrying a bomb strapped to his chest. Sometimes, he’s just carrying his family’s water for the night. Other times, a MG 30 and you wonder how in the hell he managed to hide  _ that  _ one. But it doesn't matter, because all that does is whether you're quicker than them, not just on your feet, but in your mind. You have to be smarter than them. You have to think faster than light. Your thoughts can’t be slow because then your actions will be slow, and then you’ll be responsible for ten of your men lying dead in a ditch. That’s what this is, Adam. I don’t have to think my thoughts anymore, I can  _ be _ my thoughts. Saves me from havin’ to do two steps when I can get away with one. That’s fast, that’s bein’ smart.” He had explained all of it in such a casual, languid drawl. His eyes had been closed but moving rapidly behind the thin white lids, tracking the sensory overload brought on by the cocaine and rum.   


God help him, was all he could think.  


“You’re not over there anymore, Blake. You can slow down now. You don’t have to be the smartest person in the room anymore...You’re not at war.”  


“I know that, Adam. My  _ mind _ knows that, believe it or not. But I wake up sometimes and my bedroom is suddenly the desert and the blankets are a straight-jacket and I’m shooting at nothing but dry wall. You ever wake up in the middle of the night and swear you see someone standing over you with a gun pointed at your head?”   


“No.”  


His brother cocked his head but otherwise did not open his eyes. “Hm.”  


Adam wanted to scream at him, slap the drugs out of his system and punch him for good measure. It had been tempting, but he’d resisted. Because he had understood. Again. Blake’s mind was not at war, but his body still was. And that must have taken a toll on him, it must have dragged him so deep into the pits of hell that he was trying to climb back up with no hands and no feet and no sane mind to find replacements for them. Adam thought he must be a prisoner in his own body. That had to be the only logical source for the addiction. So, he dragged Blake to yet another hospital. Sat with him through the nausea and paranoia and threats. Stayed with him through the shattering and shivering, when Blake’s threats had turned to pleading and tears.  


They’d come full circle again, though, and it was up to Adam to find a way to break his brother free.  


A tap on his window startled him, breaking his thoughts and causing him to shift wearily in his seat.  


The air left his lungs for a brief moment. He stared.  


Well, he thought.  _ Well. _   


In theory, he should not have been surprised by how Blake looked. Rehab had always done him good. His outer exterior looked healthy, skin glowing with promise, eyes awash with a newly lit fire. He reached for the door handle and swung the piece open as if it were trivial and not his entire life savings at one point.  


He stood before his older brother, who was pressed neatly into a black blazer and blue jeans, a slightly finer cut and blend than his usual. He didn't have a coat, Adam noticed, but his crisp white shirt looked heavy and his silver cuff links were a sight to distract the younger man momentarily from the lack of proper clothing in this weather. Adam was almost dazed by his appearance. He looked older, more mature, less demoralized.    


“Blake?" Adam was staring at him, a small frown creasing his forehead, as if he doubted momentarily that this was in fact his brother.   


"Since birth," Blake replied, shaking his head slightly to indicate he was amused. Blake stepped towards him, his left arm outstretched, hand coming up to hold his own in a warm gesture. Adam gripped his arm tightly back, rotating it until the cuff was facing him. He traced his fingers lightly over the soft fabric of the jacket sleeve before pushing it back slightly until he could see the whole cuff. He had bought them. He specifically remembers dragging his wife with him to the dress store to pick a pair out for Blake’s birthday. The cuff links were sterling silver, engraved with two letters and a crown, to remind Blake that despite any downfalls or failures, the both of them would always be kings. He ran his finger over the engraving fondly, the cool metal warming quickly to his touch.  


"I thought you hated these," Adam said quietly.  


“I do. They’re a bitch to get on.”  


Adam looked up in surprise at small laughter. "I haven’t heard that sound in a while.”  


Blake nodded, his eyes fixed on his little brother.  


"Well I hope you wear these more. They were really expensive.”  


He cringed. He wanted to say they were important. The cuffs were a reminder of Adam’s love and loyalty, they were supposed to remind Blake to be strong.  


“Do you remember what you said to me six months ago? When you decided to drop me off here.”  


Adam shook his head, clearly at an impasse.    


“You said that I was a great man. And that someday, if you and the rest of the world were lucky, I might even be a good one. I don’t think you remember what you said to me when you gave me the cuffs, but I do. You said one day, hopefully, I could wear them and be proud of who I was. I’m still working on the good part, Adam. But I am proud of how far I’ve come. Thanks to you." Blake looked away, and Adam returned his eyes to the cuff links, knowing how much it took out of him to even utter those words. He had said them quietly and somewhat withdrawn.  


Eventually, Adam did look up. Blake was staring at him, a curious and hesitant expression in his eyes. Adam smiled.  


“They look good,” he said.  


Blake laughed.  


"Come on, let's go," Adam said, opening his car door once again, the wind a reminder on his freezing form. "It’s a long drive back to the house."  


"I see you got a new car?" Blake asked, not surprised at all. “L.A. must still be treating you nice.”  


Adam scowled. “At least the weather isn’t below freezing.”  


Blake settled nicely into the soft leather, leaning the chair back as far as it could go. "That’s why only real men live in Canada."  



	2. Before something breaks that cannot be fixed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the beautiful song Touch, by Sleeping At Last, as are the lyrics to start the chapter. I recommend giving it a listen as this song was most of my inspiration for writing this chapter.

_ But God I want to feel again, Oh God I want to feel again. _

 

_ Four Years Later, Outskirts of Manitoba, Canada _

The grey and cobalt Pilatus PC-12 made a slow dive towards the thin runway edged with the beginnings of autumn-virescent grass. Only as the wispy aircraft banked and came around to proper alignment did the gravel strip become visible, barely a hundred feet wide and dotted with bright flashing lights to guide the pilots. As she stood on the tarmac, wondering how to handle all of her luggage, Gwen Stefani shaded her eyes with one hand and watched as the plane touched down and braked. The prop slowed as the plane taxied to an almost perfect stop a few meters from the building.

“That's us.” Adam called over the roaring of the propellers. Gwen kept her laptop bag and makeup case close, wondering about the rest of their suitcases and how everyone was going to fit in the aircraft, comfortably. “Here,” Adam said, reaching his hand out for her bags. Handing off the carry-on, Gwen waved at the garment bag and suitcase, “Am I going to have to leave these here?”

“Course not. Blake made room for us, trust me.”

Behati stared at her unsure, and both women smiled at the abruptness in which Adam tried to heft every bag they brought onto his shoulders.

“Mommy I gotta go pee.” Gwen looked down to Adam and Behati’s son, Axel, rubbing at the back of his neck with his free hand, the other enclosed around a bag of candy. He was five now, with a mess of dark hair on top of his head and green eyes the color of emerald.

“You can go when we get to Uncle Blake’s.”

“I have to go now,” he demanded.

“Guys! Come on, it's this way,” Adam said, pointing away from the concrete bunker that passed for a local airport.

Axel whimpered but at seeing the plane his father was pointing to, he got excited.

Gwen felt a small touch against her pinky and looked down to see Dusty grasping for her hand. A small beautiful smile splayed across her pink lips. Her long silk brown hair trailed behind her as the wind blew, and Gwen forgot momentarily how cold it was until the sight reminded her. “That one is my dad’s favorite plane because he told me that Uncle Blake and him almost crashed it one time but they didn't die and daddy said it was a lot of fun,” she said, ducking her head to drop under the pointy end of a jet to indicate the much smaller plane a short distance away. It was blue on top and grey underneath with PC-12 painted in black on the tail. Gwen blinked at it a couple of times before she realized there was a man standing by, leaning on the wing.

“It looks really cool,” she observed numbly as her words sank in. When Behati had proposed this trip, Gwen had agreed only when her children assured her that they would be okay. Now, walking towards the little plane, Gwen wasn't sure that  _ she  _ would be. It was Canada, it was cold, and she would be staying in Adam’s brother’s home whom she had never met before.

Dusty let go of her hand in favor of running the rest of the way, and once she got to her uncle, he swept her up in his arms. She hugged his neck fiercely, and Gwen saw the man place a small kiss in her hair. As she got closer, the man set Dusty down gently and turned to Axel. The little boy was tugging on his pant leg, a piece of candy half hanging outside of his mouth, and a toothy green directed up at his uncle. The man, Blake she reminded herself, bent down and wrapped an arm around Axel. He accepted a gumdrop with a dazzlingly smile and Gwen’s breath caught somewhere in the wind.

“Blake, there's someone I want you to meet.”

The man leaning against the wing turned to regard Gwen through metallic black sunglasses, his neck straining from the low angle. He wore a heavy beige jacket and faded blue jeans, ragged cuffs trailing threads over worn work boots.

“Blake this is Gwen. Gwen this is my brother, Blake.” Adam introduced.

He was twelve inches taller than Gwen and several stones heavier, all of it solid muscle, judging by the way his jeans fit him. She can admit that he was ruggedly attractive. But even being attracted to the man alarmed her. Whoever he was, he chose to live here, which indicated some deep flaw somewhere in him. No one choses to live out in the middle of nowhere in Canada, nonetheless, without being at least a little crazy.

“It's nice to meet you.” Gwen called out.

“How much luggage did you actually bring?” Blake asked sharply, looking Gwen up and down before surveying her belongings. Everyone else had one suitcase and even the kids managed to share one.  But she knows that Blake kept the rooms stocked with clothes and utilities from their previous stays. If Gwen didn't bring all that she did, she would have absolutely nothing. Still, even knowing this, Gwen can’t help the flush that heats her face and neck.

“Blake. You have room.” Adam says sharply, cutting her off before she can give him a response.

“I can leave it if I have to. I don't want to be any more work for you,” she says softly and she means it. Instead of getting angry at his abruptness, she told herself that she is thousands of miles away from home and being left here without any way back would be the dumbest thing she's ever managed to pull off.

“It’s seven hundred and about forty kilometers back home, give or take. I’m not flyin’ back here just to pick up a pink suitcase.”

Gwen resisted the urge to put down her bags so she could smack him.

“Adam, put your’s and the kids on the passenger side. I’ll get the rest.” Turning, the man climbed up into the aircraft at the back port side, hauling her and Behati’s suitcases one at a time. His jacket rode up just enough to show a black holster at his right hip, exposing shiny metal. Gwen had never seen a gun in person, and certainly not this close. What he needed it for, Gwen couldn’t imagine.

“I bought some of that wine you liked last time.”

It took her a moment to realize that Blake was talking to Behati. Her friend walked forward when Blake shut the cargo lid, and planted her foot on the plane’s ledge. Blake grabbed her hand to help her into her seat.

“You didn't drink any of it before we got here right?” Her voice was laced with some trepidation but she was smiling softly at her brother-in-law.

“No ma’am. Scout’s honor.”

“I'm a Boy Scout, Uncle Bwake.” Axel piped up beside his mother. Both of the children were sitting in the back, and as Gwen moved closer, she saw that there was more room then she had previously thought.

“Are you? I guess it's time to take you huntin’ then.”

Adam snorted from his place in the passenger seat. “Yeah right.”

She sees a small smirk on Blake’s face as he tightens the straps over each of their laps. When he’s finished, he steps down and closes the door firmly, fastening a latch efficiently.

“You coming?” Blake asked once he was already settled into his seat.

Gwen looked back at the concrete airport and the bland blue sky and the gentle hills that made it seem like the nothingness stretched out in all directions, forever. Slowly, she turned to look back at the pilot with his heavy jacket and gun and tight jeans.

“Where am I supposed to sit?” She asked dumbly, holding her makeup bag and computer closer to her body.

“There's a seat between us, Gwen. Come on, let me help you with those.” Adam said, voice trailing off as he moved to get out of the plane on the other side. Blake was looking at the dashboard, steadily ignoring her. She took a deep breath and carried her stuff over to the cargo area behind the side-by-side seats.

“Did I do something wrong?” She whispered as she helped Adam load the bags.

“What? No, why would you think that?”

“Your brother doesn't seem to like me.”

“He does he just--new people are hard for him to adjust to. It's nothing personal. He’ll warm up to you, I promise.”

Instead of protesting, Gwen gave him her best, fake smile, hoping it came across as generous as Blake Shelton’s hospitality.

 

* * *

 

It took thirty minutes to escape the crowded airspace around Little Green and get back into the wild, heading north for Chasterlake. Blake had hoped his passengers would stay quiet throughout the ride and was pleasantly surprised when he looked in the little mirror above his control panel and saw three sleeping faces in the back. 

“Their beautiful.” He murmured.

Adam hummed in response, his head lounging back against the seat, eyes closed.

“Get you a wife and you can have that.”

Blake screwed his face up. “No thank you. I get my family fix when you’re here.”

Once they leveled off to cruising altitude, Blake saw the woman, Gwen, he scolds himself, rearrange the computer on her lap--the bag that wouldn’t fit--and place it at her feet, freeing her hands so she could get at a phone out from inside her left jean pocket. She was sitting in the middle of the two brothers, shrinking herself down as much as possible, he noticed.

“I heard your husband died--”

“Blake,” Adam interrupted. He gave Blake a sharp, narrow-eyed look that was probably meant to be intimidating.

His response was a silent exhale of breath through flared nostrils as he turned his attention back to the sky. It was grey now.

Blake decided to think about something other than small talk. He was shit at it anyways. He thought about the new firewood he just cut down, or how the lake next to his house was frozen tight. He could take the kids out ice-skating if they wanted. Behati would love that, Adam not so much but he could fetch the hot chocolate as a substitute. Gwen...he didn't know what to think of Gwen. In fact, he realized that she was going to be the first outsider to see inside his house since he’d taken ownership. Years ago, he’d had architects and engineers and surveyors out, and the building crew had spent a month living onsite in tents, but those days were over. Adam and his family only came up twice a year, Adam about once every two months to check up on him. Miranda was his only occasional visitor, and she didn’t stay longer than an afternoon.

The thought made Blake’s chest go tight and his fingers itch, but he took a deep breath and concentrated on the controls. He owed Adam everything, and if it took an unwanted house guest to make that clear, make that appreciated on his end, then so be it.

The fact that the house guest in question was gorgeous complicated matters, but Blake would find a way to live with it.

They flew in silence that was surprisingly comfortable, given his outburst earlier, broken only near the end of the first leg, when Blake keyed the mic. “Chasterlake tower, this is Charlie-Bravo-Two-Two-One requesting landing clearance to refuel.”

“Charlie-Bravo-Two-Two-One, this is Chasterlake tower. Weather is cloudy with light snow, decent visibility. Your window is clear to land. How is the family doing? Over.”

“The usual, Rory. Glad to be back in the snow, of course. Should be wheels-down in fifteen.”

“Hot chocolate for the kiddos, coffee for the grown ups, and a lovely tea for the captain.”

“You know I hate tea.”

“It's not your biggest fan either, Blake. Chasterlake tower out.”

Blake glanced over at Gwen, who was staring at him so intently that Blake snapped his head back to the window pane.

“Something wrong?” He asked.

“Adam told you my husband died?” She asked in that quiet, soothing voice of hers. With a voice like that, Blake would be content to listen to her read the phone book.

“Yeah.” He glanced at his brother, but saw him fast asleep, head leaning against the cold window.

Gwen didn't say anything after that.

“The house is another forty-five minutes. You must be tired like the rest of them…”

_ So take a nap please, so I can fly us back home in peace. _

“I am. But I've never been here before. I want to see everything.”

Blake laughed and shook his head. “There's not much to see.”

“The snow...I haven't seen snow in...I don't think I've ever seen it actually. Except for on TV.”

Blake saw her eyes light up as they drew closer to snowflakes. The weather was not as bad in Little Green. There would be a snow storm by the end of the day and Blake had no desire in getting caught in it.

“Do you always fly everywhere you go?” She asked, leaning a little closer to him.

“There aren’t any roads up to my property. You can take a boat, but the lake is ice at this time of the year. The snowmobiles are only for small distances. And even then, they’re mostly for the kids to enjoy.”  

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her smile warmly. “Seems like it’d be a lot of fun out here for a kid,” she said absentmindedly.

_ For a kid. _

Blake hummed in agreement.

 

* * *

 

“Where’s the tower?” Gwen asked.

“They haven't built it yet.” Blake replied sarcastically. 

Gwen watched as he turned off the plane’s engine.

“Does anybody need to get out?” Blake asked.

After a landing that jolted every bone in Gwen’s body and woke up Behati and the kids, they circled at the end of a very small runway and drove towards an open-sided hangar that looked like a carport.

“Can I stretch my legs?” Behati asked as Blake exited the aircraft in a blast of cold air that didn’t warm up even after he nodded his head and closed the door.

“I have to go pee, mommy.” Axel whimpered and Dusty nodded her head as if to signal she needed to go as well.

“Okay come on. I think they have a bathroom here.” The mother rushed them out of the aircraft and into the cold--into the snow.

Snow on the TV looked soft and pliant, beautiful to watch fall and even more exciting to let dissolve on your tongue.

Snow here was thick and slow and blindingly white even with the heavy cloud cover that turned day into dusk. Gwen shivered as she watched it build up on the windscreen, but it didn’t look like the chill would be knife-sharp or biting, so she relaxed.

Adam was still asleep next to her, lord knows how, she thought. Her attention focused on Blake but then she spotted the man walking towards them--younger, red-head, smoker, accustomed to the cold, friendly smile. The kids and her best friend had disappeared into the white nothingness and Gwen simply watched as Blake and the other man--Rory, presumably--chatted while refueling the plane. Rory had handed Blake two paper cups of coffee, the sight of which was nearly enough to lure her out.

After several minutes had passed and Behati and the kids were strapped back into the plane, Blake shook hands with Rory and climbed back into the pilot’s seat. He offered a cup holder to Behati and she dispersed the drinks as fast as she could.

Gwen sipped the coffee and found it to be disgusting. It was a dark brew and laced with artificial creamer, but it was hot and that was all that really mattered. Even her spine felt cold.

Adam woke with a start as Blake steered the plane around to the far end of the runway.

“Almost home,” Adam said, sounding relieved, as the plane accelerated towards the trees once again.

“Go back to sleep, everyone. The snow will at least make it an hour out.” Blake said.

Gwen glanced at him, noting the way his shoulders had relaxed. The tight lines at the corners of his mouth had all but disappeared.

Gwen felt her eyelids droop ever so slightly. She  _ was _ tired. And Blake seemed to be in a better mood.

She napped like a baby.

 

* * *

 

The property had been in the Lambert family for generations, remnant of an old mineral claim the great-great-great-grandfather had staked. At various times, it had been used for gold panning, hunting, and fishing, but it hadn’t actually been developed until after Blake had enlisted and a wealthy man, by the name of Hugh, retired from his medical practice and bought the land. The house itself had four rooms, a small attic, and a storage cellar that allowed access to the pipes for repairs. It was built of tightly-chinked logs, double-pane windows, and a sturdy stone roof. 

It was his baby, and he couldn’t be prouder of how much he added to the land. Even Miranda praised him for his hard work.

After landing, Blake taxied the plane as close to the house as he could get. He left the engine idling and looked at all the sleeping passengers. The descent had not been as bad as Chasterlake because of his newly paved strip, so his guests remained sleep where they were.

“Adam. Adam wake up.”

His brother stirred slightly and blinked his eyes open several times.

“I need you to help me get the bags and carry them inside.” 

Adam’s eyes narrowed but he nodded absently, now looking at the property with a fond smile.  

“Alright. Come on,” Blake said, and exited the plane, heading through the light snow for the front porch once he gathered as many suitcases as he could.

He pushed open the door and entered without bothering to turn on the lights, dropping the bags and going right for the fireplace.

“You don’t change anything ever, do you?” Adam asked, momentarily silhouetted against the iron grey sky before he closed the door.

“Why would I?”

“Maybe to spice up the place. Don’t you get bored looking at the same..I don't know..windows?”

“Do you know what a bitch it is to get new windows out here?” Blake answered.

Adam chuckled and knelt down by the hearth beside Blake. The older man struck a long match and laid the fire before letting it go out. The firelighter caught at once, sending licks of flame out along the kindling.

“You’ll be nice for me?”

“Depends on your definition of nice.” Blake kept his eyes on the fire, enjoying the tingling warmth that touched his face.

“She just lost her husband. Her kids are grown and living their lives. She was going to spend Christmas alone.”

“Plenty of people spend Christmas alone,” Blake said dryly.

“You don't. Despite how annoying you are, we always come up to make sure you’re not by yourself.”

“You only come up to make sure I haven't put a bullet in my head.”

Adam shrugged, reaching in to set a split log in place. The kindling crackled under the weight, but enough of it had caught that he wasn’t in danger of smothering the young flames. “I have many reasons for coming to visit you.” Blake glanced sideways and saw Adam staring intently at him.

“Just do this for me, please.” 

Blake laid a couple more logs onto the iron grate before he stood. He brushed down his jacket, absently verifying the reassuring presence of the .45 at his hip. “I always do everything you tell me don't I?” he asked, picking his way around the furniture to the kitchen, where a potbelly stove housed a black kettle.

Adam followed, stopping in the archway. “This is different, you know that.”

The evasive answer made Blake glance back, but the hazy grey light coming in through the windows wasn’t enough to give him any details of his brother’s cryptic expression.

“Does it really matter that this isn't about my addiction? I’m a grown man, not a child.”

Adam went very quiet and still. Not dangerously so, but this felt surprised, almost vulnerable, rather than threatening, and Blake began to wonder if he’d said the wrong thing, or possibly the right thing after years of holding his tongue.

Finally, Adam broke the silence by walking forward. He kept a good amount of difference between them without letting on that he was trying to but Blake noticed nonetheless, and silently thanked him for it.

“I worry about you.”

“You always have.”

Adam nodded.

“The bedrooms need a fire. Get moving. I want to get the plane tucked away before it gets dark,” Blake said after several moments, and when Adam went to light the bedroom fireplace, Blake unclenched his fists, moon crescents indented in rough, calloused skin.

 

* * *

 

The glowing fire in the living room gave off enough heat that Gwen was tempted to stay there the whole night. The children were in the bath, Behati and Adam were unpacking, and Blake was back outside, presumably putting the plane back into its garage or wherever he kept it out of the weather, leaving Gwen to make herself at home in a house that was nothing close to it. She found an empty bedroom off the living room, the only one unoccupied. It was dark, and cold, and Gwen shuddered at the idea of sleeping in there. Nothing about the house was comfortable, but her friends had waltzed right in like it was the best vacation home they ever stepped foot in. 

Gwen leaned against the bedroom wall and pressed her hands against her eyes, hating the way her brain felt sluggish. The world was screaming at her, her husband was gnawing at her insides again, and her children were grasping at her skin in a desperate frenzy. She couldn’t process it all and it made her want to cry.

“Gwen?”

Her head whipped around at the call that sounded like it came from the living room. Peering through the bedroom doorway, she saw Blake, now holding two blocks of wood. His expression wasn’t clear when he met her eyes.

“I was gonna tell you that the fireplace in here is electric but it doesn't work.”

“Oh..That's okay. It’s not that bad in here, anyways.” She lied smoothly.

Blake had removed his heavy jacket, revealing a physique that confirmed Gwen’s suspicions that he was in very good, very appealing shape. He was still wearing his gun at his right hip. The leather holster was such a contrast to the rest of him but it was old and worn and it felt like it suited the man.

“Don't be stupid, it's freezing. You can sleep in my bedroom.”

Seconds dripped by, glacially slow, as Gwen processed his words--his kind words. Gwen took in the comfortable way Blake carried his weapon, the fact that he was armed in his own house where the doors were locked. She took in the neat-but-worn clothing, his stance, and his hair, which looked two months grown out of a buzz-cut. She knew he was in the army but noticing his cropped curls was still a jolt to her equilibrium. He was this hard man, and these kind and soft words had just spilled out of this stiff mouth.

“Where are you going to sleep?”

Blake shrugged. “Living room gets warm enough. I don’t sleep much anyways.”

He paused, like he really did not want to let  _ that  _ come out of his mouth. Gwen studied Blake’s face, for the first time reading guarded shame in his expression.

“I--thank you.”

"Don't mention it." 

Gwen didn't know if he was referring to the offer or the secret that he let slip. 

* * *

 

Dinner was Italian stuffed chicken with sun-dried tomatoes and mushrooms served with pan-fried cornbread. Behati had made the entire meal and Blake was reminded by his full belly how much he enjoyed a home-cooked meal made by another. 

Outside, the snow had died down. Adam did the washing, and Gwen set the dishes to dry. It was weird to see her in his home, doing domestic things like she had been there all along.

“I’m going for a walk.” He announced.

“Can I come with you.” Dusty stared at him with big, wide eyes. Blake bit back a laugh, and looked to her parents for permission.

After a moment, Behati sighed. “Please bundle her up, it's really cold out there.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The both of them left the kitchen in a flourish. He put on his jacket, gloves, and hat before helping his niece do the same. They went outside into the cold. The temperature hovered just below freezing, as it did sometimes, but the end of the snowfall brought a degree or two of warmth.

“Can we look at the stars tonight, like we did last time.” Dusty asked, gripping his hand tightly as they trucked through the snow.

“It's too cold, maybe tomorrow night.”

Every night, he walked the property, checking on the shed, and the windows and roof and structure of the house. Sometimes, he went to watch the river, but not often. Growing up, he had seen the stars almost every night. But Dusty and her brother had rarely seen more than a handful of stars at a time, thanks to a childhood spent under the heavy pollution of L.A, and other cities. He didn’t think it was fair that Adam wouldn’t give his children the childhood they had. It was rough, but they had the sky and an infinite amount of stars to get lost in.  

“They really are bigger out here, Uncle Blake.”

He hummed but didn't look up, concentrated on walking and keeping Dusty from tripping over the small snow banks that had gathered on the ground.

“How come you don't look up anymore.”

Her voice was so soft, and high, and innocent.

“What’d ya mean?”

“You don't look up at the sky anymore. Are you bored of the stars?”

Bored? Never. Afraid? Yes. He’d fallen in love with the infinite night sky as a child, but that love had shattered one night in the desert. Now, he felt safer in the dark, as though the light of the Milky Way somehow stripped away his defenses, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. The stars were very dangerous and it didn’t escape him that Gwen’s pale brown eyes suddenly felt like that starlight. They twinkled when he woke her from the plane, and when directed at him, it felt as if the huge gas giants out in space were swallowing him whole. Just thinking of them made him shiver in a way that might have been good and might have been bad. Gwen was beautiful and interesting and that voice--Blake didn’t let anyone in his head, never allowed anyone to walk around and hum in approvement or moan in disagreement and Gwen...Gwen seemed just the type to pry where she wasn’t wanted.

So no, he didn't look up at the sky as often as he would like, and most likely wouldn't until they left.

“How’s school been goin?” He decided to distract her so that he could finish his routine check up in something that resembled quietness, save for her soft voice.

He listened to her ramble on about stupid boys in her class and even stupider teachers, all while verifying that the emergency supplies he packed in the cargo compartments of both the ATV and snowmobiles were still there. Tomorrow, he’d have to triple the rations just in case he decided to take them all out hiking.  

As Dusty’s story about a backstabbing bitch named Jennifer, who was in her class but obviously held back a grade, was coming to a close, Blake stood up to find his niece with her tiny hands on her hips and tiny lips pursed into a frown. He laughed so loud that it surprised him. Dusty looked even more offended but Blake just picked her up suddenly and threw her over his shoulder, tickling her until her small body shook with uncontrollable laughter.

A bit reluctantly, he started back for the house, Dusty now tucked firmly into his side as he carried her, her head snuggling against his shoulder.

“Why don't you live with us back home?” The puff of air against his scruffy cheek warmed the skin underneath.

“Because this is my home.”

“But daddy said, me and Axel and mommy are his home.”

He tightened his arms around her self-consciously.

They went back inside and hung up their outerwear by the door. The walk had refreshed him, besides the turn of conversations from his ever intelligent niece, and the warmth of the fires encouraged a drowsy, languid mood to creep over him, but he still felt restless. His days were usually filled with bursts of physical labor--mostly chopping firewood--and quiet periods of intense mental concentration or a release of music from his guitar.

Spending the entire day in flight had been strangely taxing.

“No signs of frostbite?” Behati rounded the corner with a basket of laundry.

Blake smiled to himself and went to his desk in the living room, his voice trailing off. “She lost a toe by the shed but we’ll get it in the morning.”

Though Adam bought him much a newer, far better, guitar for Christmas last year, he had an old, reliable Gibson in the corner. He picked it up and settled in his chair. The center of the desk was occupied by a litter of books. To the left, he had a stack of blank paper; to the right, a much smaller stack of written pages. Below the desk, he kept a basket for discarded sheets that he could later use for fires.

He’d stopped writing the song he was currently working on when he headed out to the airport earlier that day. Now, he ran a finger over the black ink, feeling the impression of the letters without actually reading the words, letting the song spin out in his mind. He considered how the different melodies twisted together, weaving into a pattern that would hopefully go unrecognized until the climax of the song. He was only a paragraph in, and already the lyrics were coming to life, adding little nuances of responses that would help make them more real to the listener. Closing his eyes, he focused his attention on the sounds around him, listening to the voices in the bedrooms and in the kitchen. He listened for  _ his  _ bedroom. What was Gwen doing in there now? Was she laying on the bed? Was she still unpacking? Was she getting undressed for her shower?

  
_ There.  _ He found the perfect place to begin, he set his hands on the raised strings and began to strum.


	3. So heartless with the words I say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the brilliant song Drugs, by EDEN, as are the lyrics to start the chapter. I recommend giving it a listen as this song was most of my inspiration for writing this chapter.

_All these feelings don't mean shit to me, Cause it's all just chemicals anyway_

 

Gwen opened her eyes to warm shadows lit only by a faint glow of baked coals. It was so dark in the room. The window might as well have been painted black, the darkness beyond stretched for miles and miles. She turned to the alarm clock and saw that it was only five in the morning. She simply laid there for several minutes, allowing her body and senses to adjust to the newness of it all. 

The air itself tasted ashy and alive, free of the chemical odor of California. It was different, though not unpleasantly so.

It was also boring. She was bored laying there. Faced with the choice between isolation in the bedroom and going anywhere throughout the house, no matter how empty it really felt, Gwen chose the latter.

She got out of bed and pulled on two pairs of pants and a long sleeve shirt. It was freezing.

As she reached for the door handle, it suddenly opened by the other end. Blake just emerged from the bathroom without warning, clad only in a towel wrapped around his hips. As the door opened completely, she saw that he carried his holster and dirty clothes tucked under one arm. Gwen began to take in the view before she felt her lungs go cold with the rest of her body, her throat tightening to trap her breath.

Blake’s chest was covered in scars. A circle the shape of a bullet underneath his left clavicle, several spots of raised skin, pink and fleshy. She gasped at the worst being a deep line of puckered skin wrapping all the way around his throat. She hadn't seen it yesterday, and maybe it was the way he hiked his collar up, or the darkness of the night when he took it off, but in this light, shining from the bathroom behind him, it revealed such a horrific sight.

Was he strangled? It looked like an old faded burn.

There were even more thinner lines across his abdomen, shiny white patches of skin that looked identical. Whoever did this, what ever happened, it left barely a square inch of his torso unmarked.

She saw horrible things like this in movies, but it was her first time seeing such damage in person, let alone an individual with his demons still standing on his feet and breathing. And he must have a lot of them.

Almost immediately, Blake turned his back and went to the dresser in the corner. “Bathroom is free,” he muttered over the sound of drawers being shoved and opened.

The bullet wound was mirrored on his back, though it was a starry web of white lines radiating out from a dull red center, showing the exit path of the bullet. Gwen tried not to stare, because she did not want to see what she could not fix.

She turned away but could not find her feet to move. It felt like hours standing there, trying to catch her breath while keeping her mouth closed. Until, suddenly behind her, she heard Blake approach. His footsteps stopped and Gwen held her breath once again. Was he going to scream at her to get out? Was he angry?

She felt him move closer, the heat of his newly cleaned skin rolling off of him like waves, and attacking her. From the corner of her eye, she saw his hand come out to lay on the small desk, and then a heavy exhale pass from his lips. Was he steadying himself? Bracing for the worst? She couldn't speak, or move.

Blake’s rough fingers tapped against the wood with no rhythm, and Gwen wonders how it would feel for Blake to touch her, to really touch her with those hands that have been through so much. Those hands were so different from her dead husband’s. He used to touch her out of duty with a force that lessened her love for him day by day. She wants Blake to touch her under no obligation or duress, and in response to Gwen giving him pleasure instead of watching his pain. Because he was in pain and it's so easy to see when she’s there herself.

Gwen swallows, her hand coming up to rub gently at her own throat. “Does it hurt?”

Blake’s hand falls away and she's not sure if she's asking if the wound physically still pains him or the memory in which he got it, does. She turns her head to the side slightly, looking up at him. He stared back and seemed to ponder the question for a little while, as if analyzing his own sensations has become difficult over the years.

“Yes,” he says, at last. “Yes, it does.”

He left for the living room after the admission, without dressing, leaving her in a shamble of emotions.

* * *

He hadn't thought his plan through. There were only three snowmobiles and six of them. Which meant Adam would ride with Dusty, and Behati with Axel. Like they always did. But this time, Blake wouldn't be riding alone. 

Gwen had climbed onto the mobile behind him, a position that forced them close together, with Gwen’s hands on his hips to help her balance.

He was a damn idiot. For earlier and for now. He should have at least put on a T-shirt before going into the bedroom, but he was so used to living alone, he hadn’t even thought about it. But the worst of it was Gwen’s expression, the way her eyes had widened in shock before she’d gone blank, lips pressed tightly closed as though to keep from speaking. He was embarrassed and yet he was intrigued. A surge of inspiration hit him in that moment, he could adapt the experience for his songwriting--assuming he didn’t suffer a complete mental breakdown and shoot himself at his desk.

God.

He didn't feel any better by the time Miranda’s house was in sight. They were going to get eggs and a chicken for dinner tonight and it allowed Behati a chance to catch up with the short blonde.

She appeared around the side of the house before they made it across the yard. She hesitated in mid-wave when she spotted Blake’s passenger, and shaded her eyes with her hand to get a better look against the sun’s glare.

Miranda Lambert was a few years younger than Blake, a slender, pretty blonde who was possibly the best neighbor you could ever ask for. She was a nurse who worked at the local hospital. Her family owned his property before he did and she was pleasant company most of the time.

He signaled for Adam and Behati to pull up where he did beside her porch. Blake dismounted awkwardly, needing to put some space between himself and Gwen.

“Sorry I haven't been up here in awhile,” he said, giving Miranda a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“I know you get busy down there.” She replied.

“Max!” Dusty shouted as a German Shepherd came barreling out of the house, barking at Dusty and Axel in delight.

“It's good to see you again, Ran.” Adam said as he gave her a brief hug.

“That coffeemaker you bought me last year is amazing.” Miranda replied as they separated.

“He didn't buy that, I did.” Behati said, holding her arms out for a much longer embrace, her smile blinding.

Miranda laughed, “You are not allowed to come visit me once a year anymore.” She said sternly. As she looked over the mother’s shoulder at Gwen, she grinned softly. “I see you managed to snatch another blonde, Blake.”

Blake watched Gwen look Miranda over with what seemed to be intense focus. “Ran this is Gwen. She's staying with us for the holiday.” He said as he stripped off his gloves.

Miranda gave Gwen a quick, wide-eyed look before she let Behati go. “Hi,” she said, extending a hand to the other woman.

Gwen’s smile was brief and falsely polite. “Its nice to meet you,” she said, shaking her hand.

“Need me to cut a tree down or somethin’?” He asked as he dropped his gloves onto the small dashboard of the snowmobile, looking for any reason to escape.

“Why do you always demand to do stuff when you come up here? Go inside and relax will you,” Miranda said, flashing him a private smile.

Blake felt Gwen’s sudden, penetrating stare. He coughed.

“Can I get you guys anything to drink?” Miranda asked.

“Lemonade.” Adam said quickly, dying for her homemade recipe. It was fucking lemonade not a French cuisine, Blake thought with an eye roll.

Both Miranda and Behati laughed, nonetheless, and the four adults started for the door. Blake looked back at the kids playing with Max. He wanted to stay out there with them, lose himself in the snow and the sound of children's laughter.

The porch step creaked under his boot.

* * *

Miranda went out of her way to make Gwen comfortable, providing cold lemonade, and some warm biscuits with jelly and honey. It took Blake a full ten minutes to join them in Miranda’s kitchen, finally unzipping his jacket, pouring himself a glass of lemonade. 

“The place looks really good. I’ll admit I was a little put off by the whole ‘painting the kitchen green’ but it does suit you.” Behati said.

“Right?” Miranda gave her a sunny smile. “Blake did all the work really, so I can't take any credit.”

Adam feigned surprise, “Blake actually did something nice for another human-being. I still live to see the day.”

“Yeah, fuck you too,” Blake said as he sat down.

“Want to come up for dinner next week? I was going to let Gwen teach me how to make Carbonara.” Behati asked.

“Mmm, that sounds good. All right.” She grinned at Blake, who was concentrating on the yellow liquid in his glass, his jaw tight.

A touch on her hand made her flinch back in surprise. Miranda asked, “Is your lemonade all right?”

“Yeah, it’s great. Thank you,” she turned on her polite smile.

Blake rose suddenly. “What day’s today?”

“Friday,” Miranda and Gwen both answered.

Blake’s cheeks colored slightly and he nodded.

“Right. Monday would be fine to have you over. I'm gonna go get the chicken if that's okay.” Already turning to leave the room.

“Yeah. Let me pack up some eggs for you,” she offered, leaving the kitchen while Behati gathered up their cups and took them to the sink.

“Does she not have a boyfriend?” Gwen asked as soon as the screen door closed.

Surprised by her question, Adam said, “I think there was one guy a few years back but not currently.”

Gwen sat back, thoughtfully.  

She considered what she knew of Blake so far. She considered the interested glances, the way Blake had gone tense and quiet with Miranda as Gwen was suddenly introduced to her. She considered the way she always startled as Blake addressed her, or the way her eyes went immediately to the pistol still holstered at Blake’s right hip, every time. He was so confusing to her. This Miranda girl was so confusing as well. She looked at him like they had shared something quite meaningful once, but Blake had been staring at Gwen. He did that, mostly when he thought she hadn’t noticed. He could look but she couldn't. He had avoided giving Gwen a clear view of his body--no, of his scars--since that morning with their run in.

He was clearly comfortable with physical contact, shaking hands without hesitation, giving Miranda and the kids friendly hugs and kisses. He didn’t avoid brushing against her as he walked by. And he’d openly admired Gwen a few times over the past day.

So, why was it his scars only that made him unreachable. The scars didn’t put her off. The opposite, in fact. In a world of artificial perfection, and plastic surgery, the scars made Blake more interesting, more attractive, more lovable. Nobody wants to love a perfect being, they wouldn't need it. But Blake, he was terrible, a product of other horrible things. And her mother always said that everything terrible needed our love.

* * *

Gwen spent three days eating dinner to save face and then promptly stayed in her room--Blake's room--and wore the ugly jumper Behati had given   
her all in an effort to appease normality and stay warm. She wasn't bored per say, but a snowstorm hit pretty heavily a couple of nights ago and everyone was subjected to stay inside. Gwen tried numerous times to get signal for her phone but the storm had clouded all reception. She resorted to reading books, and even drawing a little to past the time. Behati took the kids downstairs to the cellar a couple of minutes ago, where Blake bought paint and tarps for the kids to roll around in. She smiled at the thought of paint being thrown everywhere, strung across pipes and walls that were neatly covered by thick fabric to protect the interior. She thought about going down herself, even going so far as getting out of bed and heading for the kitchen to bring down bottles of water before she went. 

She stopped in the hallway, though, the sight of two men staring each other down dangerously, in the middle of the living room, effectively rooting her to the spot.

“Blake.”

The older man ignored him the first time, his fists clenching and unclenching. The second call had his head snapping slightly, because Adam’s voice had risen into a register that meant he was trying to suppress anger. “Blake.”

He was wearing a look that vacillated between bitter disappointment and absurd hope.

“Blake, I hope--I fucking hope that these are for something else.” He was holding two needles in the palm of his hand.

“Their needles. They’re used for a lot of things.”

Adam’s face was impassive, except for a little tick under his right eye. “Are they being used on you?” Adam was having problems modulating his voice.

“...Sometimes. Not for several weeks--”

“How!” Adam finally snapped. “How do you do this to me? To my kids!”

“Adam--”

“Shut up.”

Blake gave a small start at that, but he shut his mouth tightly.

“Are you even seeing a doctor?”

“I have Miranda.”

“An actual doctor. Your doctor.”

“I don’t need to see a doctor. I'm not high, Adam. You’ve seen me. I'm fine.”

“If you’re fine then why do you need these?”

Blake just stared at Adam with steady eyes until Adam shook his head.

“I won’t let you go down this path again. It's been four years. You’ve been doing good for so long. I thought you put this behind you.”

“I'm an addict,” Blake snapped. “You don't just put it behind you Adam. It's not that simple.”

Adam glared. “Then help me understand.”

Blake shook his head.

“Help me understand, Blake.” Adam pushed harder, taking a step forward.

“Just stop--”

“Help me understand and I will--”

“Go to war! Get shot at, come home out of your fuckin’ mind, cry yourself to sleep at night! Look at the fucking marks and scars and burns on your body and then tell me to make you understand.”

Adam seemed to deflate. He shook his head, shook his shoulders, and looked down at his shoes. He nodded decisively for a moment before snatching his jacket off the back of the couch and tossing the used needles to Blake, who gripped them reflexively.

“You.” Adam pointed with a weak finger as he walked backwards to the glass sliding doors. “You need to get rid of that.” Adam’s back was to him now, and Adam’s hands were white on the door frame for a moment before he let go. “When I get back, I want them gone. And I want a promise.”

“I’m not going back to rehab.”

“I said a promise, Blake.”

Blake closed his eyes. “I can’t--”

“You should have died in your twenties. If not from the war then from this. I want you to promise that when you do die, it’ll be from a plane accident, or cancer, or old age...just not...not from this. Please, for me. Not from this.”

There was the sound of feet pounding down the wood steps and glass sliding open and closed once again. When Gwen saw Blake open his eyes, for the briefest of seconds his gaze caught her own. But by the time he managed to look back, Gwen could no longer be seen.

* * *

 

Blake doesn’t mind being married to his scars. And he doesn’t expect them to hold him in bed as he falls asleep at night. But he thinks about Gwen’s beautiful light brown eyes and how she’d reacted to the sight of them. Even the ones that weren't visible, she wanted to see. He knows the look of interest when he see’s it, the tug and pull of curiosity when confronted with it. She’s interested in him. It’s remarkable really. But what exactly does she  _ see  _ in him? He's broken, trembling and limping through life. He thinks it doesn't matter, whatever she saw must have been wiped away clean when she overheard him and Adam earlier. He's an addict, an abuser, a junkie. Who would willingly love either of those. 

Before he even realized he was moving, he was making his way across the house and to the bedroom. He knocked twice, but there was no response. He opened the door softly and saw that the bedroom was empty. Blake sighed and made his way to the safe, tucked neatly in the corner of the room. He typed the six-digit combination into the gun safe and swung open the door. The tiny halogen light mounted in the top of the safe came on, casting a mellow blue glow over oiled metal and matte black composite and softer wood stocks. He got out the .22, an old, lovingly-tended Smith and Wesson. He grabbed another holster for the pistol and a box of ammunition.

Rather than going back into the living room, he cut through the back hallway, and put on the patched, threadbare jacket that he kept in the kitchen. He didn’t bother with gloves, though he knew his fingers would go stiff, then burn with the cold, then finally go numb if he stayed out long enough.

It was a couple of hours until midnight, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Blake walked out back, trying not to look up at the stars, and went to the airstrip. It made a convenient target range for everything but the sniper rifle. He put the box of ammunition down on the edge of the pavement and crouched, not looking up at the sky as he dropped the magazine into his palm. It only held ten shots, which forced him to take a break every few seconds while he reloaded.

When he pressed the first bullet into the magazine, his hands shook.

His internal dissonance had to be because of the kids in the house, and a pissed off brother who only returned an hour ago and promptly stormed off to his bedroom like a petulant child. And then there was Gwen. A different and unfamiliar, living, breathing presence. She probably had never seen a gun before in her life, not in reach. She probably never even heard the sound of a gunshot before.

God, she was so innocent, so pure. It didn’t help that she was fucking gorgeous as well, with those eyes and that voice and that strange sense of calm intensity. She didn’t fill the air with meaningless conversation; she was content to sit in silence, but she always watched him, whatever he was doing, wherever he went.

He pushed the magazine home and rose, snugging the pistol in the palm of his hand, gripping tightly with cold fingers. He could barely see his target area, so he looked in the right direction and brought the gun up into his line of sight, extending his arm while relaxing it simultaneously, waiting a few seconds while he tried to suck in air for his lungs. It was pointless--he always shot holding his breath--so he eased his finger against the trigger, changing pressure in slight increments until he heard the sharp, sudden report of the firing pin striking.

It felt invigorating. He squeezed off two more rounds before he heard the back door slam open, wood striking wood more loudly than the echo of the fourth round.

“Blake?” Gwen shouted.

“Clear,” he called back, putting down the pistol. Then, realizing she might not understand, he added, “I’m at the runway, come on.”

As he listened to Gwen crunch across the snow, he crouched down, balanced on the balls of his feet, and dropped out the magazine. He felt for the box of ammunition and loaded four rounds to replace the ones he’d fired. His fingers were already stiff, fighting the bitter pressure, but his head felt clearer. When he wasn’t firing at a living target--and when no one was shooting back at him--he found shooting to be relaxing.

“Are you alright? I mean I heard--”

“I’m fine.”

She stopped beside him. In the starlight, she was a small, angelic silhouette wrapped in one of his coats. The sight moved him, her in his clothes. Blake could just make out the pale face above the dark wool, but he couldn’t pick out the details of her fine bone structure or beautiful eyes.

That's good. He didn’t need to torture himself with what he couldn’t have.

“I have some targets at the far end,” he said, gesturing down the runway.

Gwen turned. “Can you even see them?” She asked skeptically.

Blake grinned. “Don’t need to see them to know where they are.” He looked up at Gwen and impulsively thought,  _ Just like my scars.  _ “Do you want to give it a try?”

Gwen’s frightened laugh was sudden and unguarded and did more to lift Blake’s spirits than the target shooting had. “You’re offering me a weapon?”

“It's not like I’m fearin’ for my life at the moment.” Blake turned, holding the gun out. “Adam doesn't like guns and I'm sure Dusty or Axel would love to be out here but they’re too young. Shoot with me?”

“I--I don’t know how.” She said quietly.

He smiled and set the weapon in Gwen’s hands, covering them with his own, directing her fingers to each part of the firearm by feel. “You’ve got ten shots. It’s an automatic so just keep shooting. It’ll stop when you run out.” Gently, he pressed the pistol up and circled around behind Gwen’s right shoulder and back. The wool coat was soft under his hands where he let his left hand rest on her hip. “Snug it in the palm of your hand, but don’t worry about the kickback. It’ll be a slight jerk, but you won’t feel it.”

“Don’t let go,” Gwen murmured, as soon as he was starting to move away.

Blake glanced up at her, surprised, but remained where he was. “You’re clear to fire, as long as you stay aimed down the runway. I own the property, and anyone on it is trespassin’.”

“I’ll help hide the bodies,” Gwen offered, shifting her stance. That was all the warning Blake needed, and a moment later, he heard Gwen fire the first round. When the echo died out, she laughed, a warm sound that slithered through Blake before coiling itself contentedly in his chest.

"I don't think I ever want to do that again.” She said, still laughing.

Blake couldn't help the smile on his face. “Another time. You get used to it.”

“Killing?”

He could tell she didn't mean to say it, or she did but not as harshly. A few seconds passed before Blake felt well enough to speak. “Well, whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Gwen stepped closer, and gave his arm a brief squeeze before running her hand down to find Blake’s. “I'm sorry...for earlier--and now.” Her breath came out in tiny puffs of air. 

He looked down, pressing the loaded magazine to his palm before hesitating. His fingers twitched against Gwen’s hand before he reclaimed the magazine.

“Let’s go inside,” he said, easing the gun from Gwen’s grasp. “It's freezing.”

He stepped ahead of her, raised the weapon, and fired all nine rounds with a quick, precise rhythm in the time it took him to exhale, filling the air with the sharp smell of gun smoke. Then he slung the pistol in the holster and bent to pick up the ammunition box at his feet.

He didn't say another word as he walked back to the house.

* * *

Gwen thought she’d known what to expect when she’d learned she was getting herself involved with an ex-soldier. She thought it would be all about medals and funny war stories and a kind man that served our country faithfully. But getting involved with not only an ex-soldier but an addict for the holidays warranted no sane response. What she got, was nothing like what she’d been told. No violence--yet--but paranoia was at the top of the list, along with mood swings and hostility and basically anything undesirable. And yet, he courteously offered to wash a dish, made no household mess that he didn't clean up after himself. He hung his towels and kept the house in order. He was quiet but he would joke. Whenever he did laugh, it was warm and friendly and inclusive, as though he were happy to introduce whoever it was he was laughing with, to something new. 

It was a week before Christmas, and the house had already been decorated with colors of red, green, blue, silver, and gold. Adam and Blake were on better terms since the whole needle incident, and everyone seemed to be in a really good mood.

She had just finished peeling potatoes for the soup her and Behati were making for dinner when Adam walked in, a goofy smile on his face.

“What's got you so happy,” Behati asked.

“Plane ride.” Was all he said.

Gwen smiled. Adam was a huge kid when it came to Blake’s toys, and by toys, she meant whatever vehicles and gadgets he had stowed away in the garage and shed.

“Hey Gwen, do you mind getting a bottle of wine from the cellar. Blake has a couple down there. They’re on a huge wood case you can't miss it.”

Driven by curiosity, Gwen nodded and picked up one of the oil lamps in the kitchen and carried it down to the cellar. She knew there wasn’t any light down there except for during the day where the windows reflected sun. The floor was still covered in tarp and Gwen walked cautiously through half-filled paint buckets. The wood casing was to her left and her eyes widened with how many wine bottles there actually were. Her mouth watered with all the different kinds of red and white until she landed on a moscato. It was a sparkling white wine made in north-west Italy. She nodded her head and grabbed the bottle, stepping back quickly when a box fell right after.

It was long and slender, like a large, expensive pencil box. The auburn mahogany case looked antique, like it was once used by some early Victorian snake oil doctor. She bent down to pick it up, the inside red velvet as she brushed her hand over the top’s back.

There was a spoon, silver, a smooth bowl that swept up in a lush curve. A plastic baggie of what she could only assume was cocaine. The straight razor was a vintage folding model with an abalone handle, just like the one her father used to shave with. The vial of green glass had a rubber stopper. Three syringes. Eight gauge needles. And plenty of cotton wipes. She knew what the box was, knew why it was hidden down here in the first place. But she didn't know what to do now that she was privy to this information. Should she tell Adam? Maybe she should just put it back where she found it. Act like it didn't exist in the first place.

“Gwen.”

She jumped, glancing over with big eyes. Blake was standing on the last step, underneath the archway, eyes fixed on her, right hand resting on his handgun in a manner that was familiar but no longer casual at all. He seemed almost relaxed, weight balanced evenly, shoulders loose, but a sense of danger crackled around him.

Instinctively, Gwen rose, taking a carefully measured step back, suddenly aware that she was unarmed and terribly out of depth here.

“Please put it back,” Blake asked quietly.

A hundred responses flitted through Gwen’s mind but the only thing she could say was, “This isn't good for you.”

Blake shook his head and chuckled. “I'm fine.”

“It's fine," Gwen mocked, "You know that's all you ever say to me, really, to anyone. It's fine. You’re fine." She took a step forward, "It's fine that you live out here all by yourself, it's fine that you have an addiction you clearly don't have a handle on, it's fine that you keep taking advantage of how truly amazing Adam is as a brother, it's fine, it's all fucking fine.” She ended up shouting the last part to his face, but the cellar was far enough away from the kitchen that no one could possibly have heard it. "It is not fine, Blake. And you aren’t either."

“Why do you care so much. You don't even know me.”

“I don't have to know you to see that you need help.”

“From what? So I shoot up once in awhile, so I occasionally have a drink. I am fine. It's not like it was before.”

“I don't know how it was before. But I see how it is now.”

Blake looked thunderous. "Just put the box back. Okay? Just...go upstairs and keep your mouth shut so that you don't ruin dinner. Can you do that?”

“You want me to protect you from yourself. I won't do that.”

“I'm trying to protect  _ you _ .”

“From what?”

“From me!” He hissed at her.

Gwen stopped to look at him properly. “What does that mean.”

His jaw tightened. He ripped the box from her hands and pushed past her to the case.

“Blake, what does that mean?”

“Forget it.”

She groaned in frustration. “You are unbelievable. You can't do this! You can't…I--I honestly can not stay here as long as you keeping doing this."

“Do what?” He asked as he stalked back over to her.

Gwen shoved him. 

"This! Acting nice one minute, saying something kind for once in your life, acting as if you want me to be here and learn how to shoot and treating me like…I can't do that! I can't…do you have any idea how fucking confusing you're being?"   
  
"Treat you like what?" 

She rolled her eyes and turned around for the stairs. Blake followed her. "Gwen?"

"Just get--"   
  
"Gwen!" Blake hissed grabbing at her, "How do I treat you?"   
  
"Like I fucking matter to you!"   
  
Blake looked as if he'd been hit by a brick wall. Hot embarrassment welled up and Gwen made a dash for the upstairs only to have large hands grab at her and try to pull her close.

“Gwen--”

She whirled around and shoved him back. His hands flew out to gain purchase on the railing and wall so as not to fall back and down.

“It's fine. You’re right.” Her voice came out breathy and high. “Let’s just pretend this never happened.”

She didn't wait for a response as she traveled up the stairs once again.


	4. And the shot goes through my head and back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the haunting song Gunshot, by Lykke Li, as are the lyrics to start the chapter. I recommend giving it a listen as this song was most of my inspiration for writing this chapter.

_Gunshot, I can't take it back, My heart cracked, really loved you bad._   


_  
_

Blake had actually smiled through the entirety of the dinner but he was not relaxed. He talked quickly, but didn’t exactly throw the words to the air, and instead he looked at the result of those words with a singular intent, choosing them carefully as if for her sake. 

Gwen hadn't said a word to Blake for the duration of the meal. It wasn't out of cruelty or to make a point; Gwen just didn't know what she was meant to say.  


Was she meant to be mad, to demand Blake stop being such an idiot when it came to his addiction and the choices he was making? Was she meant to understand? It was Blake after all; not thinking for him was like losing a limb and she didn't know when that new revelation had occurred. But he was broken, and broken people don't often know they’re broken until someone comes along and finds their pieces. They tell you where to look for them, how to collect them without getting your own hands bruised and bloody, but not how to put them back together. So what was she supposed to do here? Comfort him, yell at him, threaten him?   
  
In all honestly Gwen just felt numb, numb because this was it. This was the reason one day every person who ever cared about Blake would walk away and the fact that he knew that as well and couldn't make a proper effort, wouldn't let Adam or her or hell even Miranda in far enough to help, was painful.   
  
So Gwen ignored him that night because she just didn't know how to respond.   
  
She didn't even know if she really wanted to at this point.

_  
_

* * *

  


_  
_

She was sleeping soundly for what felt like the first time in forever. When she woke slowly, it was to Blake, in the room sitting by the bed, stroking her hand softly. His face was upturned and facing the wall behind her. In the moonlight he looked like a fabled fairy tale character, all shadows and silvered skin and hair, strong angles and smoothness.   
  
God he was so beautiful and  _ rare  _ and he didn't even know it.

It was so quiet, so still that Gwen found she couldn't say anything. The words needed to be perfect, needed to be right in this silent little pocket world they'd created and Gwen wasn't good with words. If she spoke, chances were Blake would leave at the end of their conversation; so it seemed better not to say anything but rather squeeze Blake’s hand back.   
  
Blake didn't jump or say a word. Just sat, his head now bent in a defeated gesture. It was several minutes until she heard anything.

“How did your husband die?”  


It was only just a whisper and Gwen wasn't even sure she had heard it properly.  


“It was a car accident. He was drinking...”  


His mouth tightened. “How long ago?”  


“Six months, today.”  


“You miss him?”  


She faltered slightly. “Sometimes.”  


“You’re just as bad as me.” He said and Gwen looked at him uncertain. “You’re hiding something and it's pretty clear it's something you can't hide from. Just like me.”  


“I don't have anything to hide.”  


“Everyone has something to hide. If you didn't you’d be boring.”  


“I guess I'm boring.”  


“No.” He shook his head strongly. “You’re the most interesting person I've ever met.”  


Those formidable eyes studied her quietly.  


"Stay," Gwen whispered after an eternity.   
  
Blake turned his head up to look at her, eyes bright blue in the faded light. Hating the sight and hating herself for bending to it so easily, she shifted.   
  
"Stay and talk. I don't--I don’t know what to do," Gwen confessed. "I don't know how to make this okay."   
  
Blake shook his head, "You don’t have to fix me, Gwen. I can function on my own," he said. "I manage."   
  
"You could be so much more," Gwen said quietly.   
  
Blake looked away and Gwen forced herself to stay still, stroking at Blake’s hand now interlaced with her.   
  
Then a drop of water fell on their hands and Gwen held on for dear life, knowing she was about to be swept away.   
  
"That is my choice to make," Blake said still looking away, shoulders hunched since the tear had fell, as if he expected to be mocked.   
  
Mine. My life. My choice. Gwen stared at their hands, thinking of Adam and the way he talked about Behati.   
  
"Our new house."   
  
"Our life."   
  
"We bought the sweetest dog for Axel."   
  
“We’re so glad you could come with us, Gwen.”

Strange that she and Blake would never have that again because of her dead husband and his dead sent solitary. "Mine,” "yours,” "I.” The words "us" and "our" and "we" were not really in Blake’s vocabulary, she could tell.   
  
It hurts. Even if she ever thought they could grow closer together, if she thought Blake was still capable of love, maybe if she finally understood that Blake Shelton might love her one day but would never share his life with her, she could function like he did. Manage.   
  
Not quite able to bring herself to nod, Gwen just scooted back instead and drew up the covers, smiling sadly as Blake let go of her hand and stood up. She almost threw up at the sight of him walking away before she remembered who she was and who he was and what they could never be together. 

Ever.   
  
Gwen closed her eyes and nodded.

_  
_

* * *

  


_  
_

At some point, Blake must have slept, though he was awake and cooking breakfast when the dreary grey light of dawn came through the windows and woke Gwen. Apparently accustomed to little sleep and exercise, Blake walked with easy, casual confidence, showing none of the vulnerability and wariness he’d demonstrated last night. To him, the unknown predators in the forest, lurking behind every tree and in every shadow, were no threat. Rather, Blake perceived people as a threat. Not Axel or Dusty, or probably even Behati, but for the first time, Gwen wondered if she was or not. 

She thinks, yes. Yes she is.  


Her feet stop just before she enters the kitchen to see Dusty sitting on the countertop, licking a big spoon of what looks like cookie dough. Blake is at the stove, flipping bacon and pancakes. There's no sign of Adam and Behati even being up and she briefly wonders where Axel had gone to before she sees him outside the kitchen window, jumping around in the snow and making a complete mess. She smiles.  


“What happened to your neck?" Dusty asked.  


Gwen’s smile faltered.  


Blake answered absently, "I was attacked by an evil, maniac."  


She ducked her head into one of the kitchen drawers and started rummaging around, but her voice carries easily. "I think I'm old enough to hear the real story."  


Blake turned around and smirked at her. She sat upright after she found what she was looking for. A bag of chips.  


“It's a rope burn.”  


“But what happened?”  


“I was tortured. They tied a rope around my neck and it eventually started chafing until some of the skin burned off.”  


"Ew," Dusty answers automatically, her nose scrunching in distaste.  


“Yes, ew.” He chuckled.  


"Did you think you were going to die," Dusty asked, ripping into a bag of Cheetos.  


"What do you know about dying?”  


“That when you do, you go to heaven and everyone is really sad," she answers.  


“Your Dad said you couldn't have that." Blake nods to the bag of chips.  


"No, he said not to have it; there's a difference." Dusty seems supremely unconcerned, falling back onto the counter and picking up one of Blake’s guitar picks lying around. "When Aunti Gwen’s husband died it was sad.”  


Blake paused. “Were you sad?”  


“Not really. I didn't know him and he always made Aunti Gwen cry.”  


“Oh. Well I'm sure that he's...he’s in heaven now.”  


"What if it happens again?"  


“What if what happens again?”  


“Someone else dies. Sometimes Daddy tells Mommy that he's worried you will...Die. But you’re fine. So I don't know why he would say that. And I know you wouldn't do that because you’re not mean. Only mean people die and leave us.”  


Gwen holds her breath as Blake turns off the stove and steadies himself against the counter.  


"It won't." He says quietly, and then continues. "I’m too smart to make the same mistake twice."  


“What does that mean?”  


“It means I'm not going anywhere.”  


Dusty looks at him, considering.  


“That's good. Cause I love you and I don't want to stop coming up here for Christmas.”    


Blake nods, a sad smile on his face. "I love you too.”  


_  
_

* * *

  


_  
_

If Blake were a better man, he would have normal feelings. Concern, longing, joy. He doesn't concern himself with the needs or wants of others because that's breaking rule number one: don't get attached. The only attachments he's allowed himself to form, really form, are Axel and Dusty. And he can do that because he knows they’re not going anywhere. They’re young, he’s not their father so he knows they won't grow to be fucked up, and they’re  _ children.  _ Children don't bring any harm. 

Longing is another rule breaker. He doesn't want for anything usually because he knows where it gets him, alone and on his ass. Just like the drugs and the whiskey underneath his bed.  


Joy is the real kicker. What the hell is it even?  _ Joy.  _ He doesn't understand it so he doesn't feel it, naturally.   


Empathy was another anomaly. He  _ used _ to feel empathy for his friends. When you get to fight in a war, you get smeared with other friends’ blood and bones, you become acquainted with their fear and it's kind of hard not to feel what they felt when you spend so much time in close quarters with them. But empathy doesn't help him here. Just like forgiveness. He doesn't feel forgiveness for his bad choices. And if he were a better man, he would realize how terrible that is. He would sleep soundly at night, and during the day he would love people unabashedly and without compromise. He would conduct the occasional ray of light, endure the occasional get together, and now and then acquire an accidental plus-one. He would live on good deer and adrenaline spikes. He’d be happy.   


What people don't really get about him, what they can't fathom and what Gwen must  _ understand _ , is that he is a deeply  _ unhappy _ person. He is complicated. And maybe she’ll understand that, maybe she already does. They’re both complicated people, he knows that much. But loving people is not a mathematical formula. He's the guy in the back of the class still punching in numbers on his calculator, scribbling equations out until he cracks the code. He still doesn't get it. Just like Gwen doesn't get that fixing people is not like a puzzle. She’s the girl right next to him in class, concentrating on every set of numbers, every single answer, wondering why they don't fit neatly and perfectly together. She is just like him, but somehow she's better because he takes the cake. He cuts loved ones out of his life when they become a liability. Because Blake doesn’t have any friends. He doesn’t know how to make friends. He only knows how to lose them. And that terrifies him.   


“Uncle Blake, come on!”  


He snatched his thoughts back to the present and watched as the adults filed into the living room. After breakfast, he took the kids out on the lake skating rink and then Behati on a airplane ride. Gwen and Adam had opted out of doing both activities but he didn't dwell on it too much. He tried not to dwell on Gwen at all and look where his mind was not a second ago. The sun was slowly descending in the sky and Axel and Dusty had a little ‘experiment’ they wanted to show everybody. They kept quiet about what they were actually doing but Blake only knew it had something to do with bugs by the way they asked him if they could borrow a jar from the kitchen.  


_ “One not used for food in any way, Uncle Blake.” Dusty had said. _   


His brother and sister-in-law were already sat on one of the couches, leaving him to sit on the other with Gwen.  


“K, you guys ready?” Dusty called from the hallway. Blake was so amused it was hard to hide a smile.    


“We’re ready,” Adam called.  


The lights dimmed as both kids stepped out onto the makeshift stage in front of the fireplace, carrying a box covered in a tablecloth--one of mom’s good ones, he notes.  


He sees Adam smiling, probably thinking the same thing. They set the box down and begin to speak in a wavering, practiced voice about classifications of insects. Gwen leans forward, resting her hand on the edge of the couch, but stiffens when she feels her hand brush against his own. He’s sure Gwen notices his tension so he forces himself to relax, leaving his hand there and allowing their fingers to just touch. Gwen’s hand is cool, the edge of her finger slightly gliding over his own. His mind blanks.  


He straightens up a bit, leaving his hand in place, and his shoulder grazes her upper arm, leaving him cognizant of their height difference in a way he hadn’t been before. She's so small. So small and beautiful and in his mind, he turns toward Gwen, feeling the full weight of her piercing chocolate eyes, and she would touch his hair, the dark yet silver curls soft under her fingertips. He can feel the rise and fall of Gwen’s shoulders with each breath and imagines placing one hand on her chest, feeling her heartbeat under his fingers.  


He’s completely lost track of the kid’s presentation and is snapped back to reality when a gasp goes up from the room. Axel just ripped off the cloth with as much grace a five year old can muster, and there stands an aquarium full of red and black beetles, all madly devouring a rather vile--looking piece of meat. Blake wonders if the kids got into his meat freezer and decides he doesn't really care with the way Behati’s face had gone green and comical.  


Dusty continues the presentation, oblivious to the concerned and judgmental looks her parents are giving both children. Blake is laughing quietly to himself, embarrassed that his niece and nephew decided to do this here and with insects nonetheless, but proud despite himself. He was shit at science.  


Blake glances over at Gwen, who is rapt with attention, a small grin playing on her face.  


When the experiment, if you can even call it that, concludes, Blake and Gwen are both on their feet, clapping loudly, while Adam and Behati tepidly applaud, still horrified.    


Axel bounds over to Blake and wraps himself around his neck. Blake ruffles his hair and watches as Behati struggles to help Adam carry the box full of beetles and meat to the door and outside, safely.  


“We did good right?” Dusty asked him, a huge smile attacking her face at the moment.  


“You did good. Probably scarred your mom and dad for life but I liked it. Never stop being a nerd.”  


“Can you buy me a skull for Christmas?” She asked abruptly, changing conversations.  


“Human or deer?” He whispered conspiratorially.  


She giggled. “Do you want to know all the types of beetles in the world?”  


Before he could say ‘that's okay, maybe another time,’ she continues on, naming each of the dozens of beetles. Blake gave Gwen a look but the woman just smiled at him and sat back, listening intently. He followed, and allowed Axel to climb on top of him and lay against his chest, his small fingers absently running over the marred skin around his throat. He didn’t flinch once.  


_  
_

* * *

  


_  
_

Dinner was homemade pizza, served with beans that had been soaking since yesterday and pan-fried cornbread made with the morning’s bacon drippings.

After Blake washed the dishes, he dried out the skillet, listening as Adam and Behati discreetly walked to their room with whispered laughs. The kids had been down in the cellar throwing more paint. 

Blake’s ears perked up as Gwen finally pushed her chair away from the table. Usually, as soon as dinner was done, Blake would be outside doing a number of tasks and Gwen would be in the living room checking her email. This time, though, Gwen had stayed at the table for coffee and Blake had stayed in the kitchen to clean, and what had been a comfortable silence turned awkward as Blake’s imagination took flight, filling the silence with expectation and prying curiosity.  


He left the dry skillet on the counter and went to the pantry, watching Gwen out of the corner of his eye. Instead of going into the living room, she crossed to the pantry and asked, “Dessert?”  


His breath caught. He’d never heard ‘dessert’ laden with such innuendo--or maybe it was just his imagination. He wasn’t just rusty at flirtation; he couldn’t even reliably tell when it was actually happening.  


“Coffee,” he managed to say.  


“I don’t want more coffee, Blake.” She pulled the door open so she could get closer to him, while he was trying to remember which of the plastic tubs held the black coffee beans.  


“I have pie?”  


After the presentation and before dinner, Blake had showered and changed clothes. He smelled of soap, and the cool humidity had dried his hair in messy curls hanging down towards his right eye. It was rapidly growing and he really did need a haircut. But now, he saw Gwen’s fingers twitch from the desire to brush those curls away. He didn't mind the length all of a sudden.  


“I should roast some more coffee, and I then I’ll cut you a piece of pie,” Blake said, resolutely not looking. He finally pried off one of the lids and glared at the rice inside. He replaced the lid with a loud snap.  


“It can wait.”  


Realizing she wasn't going to give up, Blake took a breath to steady himself, and turned to find Gwen standing much closer than he’d expected, only inches away. “Look, I--”  


“Blake.” Gwen called softly as her hands came up, long fingers skimming over Blake’s face, sliding back along his jaw to brush lightly, chillingly over his hair. He wanted to say something, but he knew he’d come off sounding like a babbling idiot if he started to talk. It was only when her fingers started applying pressure between loose strands that he did.  


“You have to get out of here," he says anxiously.  


"I..." Gwen trails off. "Did I do something--”  


"No, I…” and Blake doesn't even care how this sounds, he never cares how this sounds. It's only the truth. He leans away. "Leave now. Please, leave me alone."  


"No," Gwen says.  


Ah.  


He knew she would be frustrating.  


"You have to," Blake says.  


"Why?"  


And what to say to that..it's a profound question.  


"I'm not...like you. I’m not good," Blake says softly.  


“You're not like anyone.”  


"Fine. No, I’m not. I'm--God. I think about things. Things I'd like to say to you. I can’t, though."  


Gwen doesn't say anything back, doesn't even move. But it's a quick little breath. Not a normal one. She doesn't leave, however. This stupid, annoying, and beautiful woman moves closer, of all things, so close that Blake can see the dark eyelashes on her lower lid, generally lost in shadow. He loves them the way a man would love a tender, helpless, creature.  


_ Fuck. Love. _   


"You're not making any..." Gwen clears her throat, tries again. "What do you want to say to me?"  


He keeps quiet.  


“It's okay, Blake.”  


"It isn't," Blake whispers, despairingly.  


Because he has a list. A neat mental list of fine things and not-fine things.  


_   
_

_ Kiss me _ .  _ Please. _   


_   
_

_ Take off all your clothes. But don't ask me to take off my mine. _   


_  
_

_ Tell me about every lover you've ever had. I want to make them each smaller in your memory until they eventually disappear like magic. _   


_   
_

_ Press your mouth over every inch of my skin just please not, not the scars _ .   


_  
_

_ Get on your knees. _   


_   
_

_ Tell me about the last time you got on your knees, not for the husband that made you cry and got so drunk he ended up killing himself in the process. _   


_  
_

_ Say my name, but breathless, very breathless, with your fists twisting the sheets of my bed. Say Blake. Say it again.  _

_  
_

_ Never leave me. Not even when I ask you to. _ _   
  
_

But there is another list. And Blake knows that nothing on that list is ‘fine.’ It's all terrible shit and he's never wanted to spare anyone anything in his life, and this is a new sensation, this feeling of kindness, perhaps even of empathy,  _ damnit _ it's what's ripping him apart, and he's constructed in such a way that he feels each and every seam. But he wants achingly to spare Gwen from this. This  _ list.  _ It's such a physical pain to know which are the worst parts of the first list and which are the more forgivable aspects of the second one. The one he wants Gwen to leave him over.   
  


_ Tell me you'll never love anyone other than me.  _

_  
_

_Watch me put a gun to my head with only one bullet in the six chambers and pull the trigger._ _I'll probably be fine, and I'll see your face when I'm all right, that sweet, harried, tired beautiful face of yours. It'll look like you love me. Even if you don't._  


_   
_

_ Please love me. _   


_  
_

_ I never want to forget you, take a knife, rope, a match, leave a mark. I don't mind, I have plenty like it.   _

_  
_

"It isn't okay," Blake says.  _ I’m feeling again and it's isn't okay.  _

"Alright," Gwen answers, getting a bit lost and blinking, "You don’t have to tell me.”  


He almost sighed.  


“Because I think I already know.”  


Her hands left his hair and face and instead grabbed a hold of his arm and shoulder. At the touch, Blake went still. “Gwen--”  


“Blake,” she interrupted quietly.  


Lightly holding his sleeve, Gwen raised her free hand and Blake’s head turned sharply to watch the path of her fingers as she set her fingertips to his face once again, for an instant feeling the golden brown and red stubble and icy skin of his jaw before Blake flinched away.  


“Blake,” Gwen repeated quietly, soothingly, and touched again. This time, he didn’t pull back. He parted his lips and took a quick breath. The motion drew Gwen’s eyes down, and she saw no reason at all not to chase that breath.  


Tight with tension, his lips probably tasted of cold and snow, just like he felt. Gwen’s taste was much more subtle. Burning points of contact connected them skin to skin--Gwen’s fingertips on his face, her thumb on the thinner flesh over his cheekbone, their lips touching lightly, barely more than the air they shared for one breath, two, before his exhale shuddered against Gwen’s mouth.  


Encouraged, Gwen licked at his cold, chapped lips, gently pressing with her fingertips. Stubble prickled against her skin, shifting as his mouth opened just enough for her tongue to flick across his teeth. His inhale was sharper now, and a hand pressed against her side not to pull her close or push her away, but simply to touch. Her mouth opened further, and the brush of Gwen’s tongue--just the tip--crackled through Blake like lightning.  


Then Blake did move, and their noses bumped coldly, nostrils flared as they both tried to breathe without losing their connection. Gwen’s hand on his skin tightened into a fist that should have hurt but didn't as he slid his own hand to Gwen’s back. It was Blake who broke the kiss. His hand fell from Gwen’s body and he stepped back with a deep breath as though to steady himself. He licked his lips, an action Gwen mirrored. He could feel the tension returning to his posture--but was completely distracted by the way Gwen walked forward and leaned up to steal another kiss.  


Blake couldn’t find it in himself to protest. He leaned into it, hands sliding up to grasp Gwen’s waist, holding her lightly but closely. The kiss was sweet now, tasting of coffee.  


Years of self-denial proved too much of a strain. The last of Blake’s reservations dissipated like fog, and he pulled Gwen close to take control of the kiss, reveling in the feel of a body pressed to his, warm and soft and very real. Gwen’s fingers twisted in his hair as she parted his lips further, allowing Blake to explore her mouth and nip at her lips.  


He was starved for intimacy, for knowing that he had someone in his arms and that person wanted him just as much. He can't believe he's been repressing this feeling for such a long time. He broke the kiss to taste Gwen’s skin, feeling the heat of her throat before he licked right over her pulse. The answering exhale was just shaky enough to hint at a desire for more. Experimentally, Blake bit, being over-careful because it had been so long and he didn’t want to hurt her. A shiver passed through Gwen, who shifted and got one foot between Blake’s, pushing her hips forward as her thigh abruptly pressed against Blake’s erection.  


Heat raced between them, scorching away another layer of Blake’s fears and reservations. He stopped counting the reasons not to do this and started thinking instead about  _ where  _ they were going to do this because they weren't alone in his house at the moment. He dropped his hands, feeling the back pockets of Gwen’s jeans and tense muscle and tight curves, and braced himself before pulling Gwen’s hips against his body.   


With a muttered curse, Gwen pushed Blake back a step and twisted, crowding him back with another overwhelming, devastating kiss. Blake’s shoulders pressed back against the wall beside the pantry and Gwen pulled his hair, tipping his head back, so she could run her tongue up his throat, the motion translating into a sinuous press of their bodies from knees to chests despite the height difference.

Gwen’s free hand braced on the wall beside his shoulder, and his breath stuttered, catching like gears knocked out of alignment before he stopped breathing. Suffocated and trapped, he felt panic rise up through him in a single heartbeat. He pushed, awkwardly at first, hands sliding over a soft cashmere sweater, before his instincts took over. His second push was a solid shove to the sternum, a twist of his hips putting strength behind the blow that freed him. He wrenched away from the wall, getting out into open space, gasping in a breath as though he’d been drowning.

Gwen, he thought, realizing what he’d just done. She was standing warily back, her eyes locked to Blake’s. She stood holding her chest but was balanced and ready, as though prepared to be attacked. 

Christ.  


Blake exhaled, confusion snapping through him as if his fraying thoughts were finally breaking under the tension. He realized his right hand was on his gun--thankfully, he hadn’t actually drawn it--but he couldn’t pry his fingers away. He could still taste Gwen’s kiss, and his throat had a single icy strip etched into the skin where the open air froze the path she had licked.  


_ She was just a human, a girl nonetheless. She’s small, and no physical threat and you just shoved the fuck out of her for what? Because you’re damaged and you know it and you know that everything's not fine. _   


__ You’re not fine.   


Abruptly, he turned and walked right out of the house.


	5. And I've been waiting for this moment for all my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the amazing song In the air tonight, by Phil Collins, as are the lyrics to start the chapter. I recommend giving it a listen as this song was most of my inspiration for writing this chapter.
> 
> This is short as is chapter six because chapter seven and eight are incredibly long. I also felt these were good places to stop.

_I've seen your face before my friend, but I don't know if you know who I am._

 

“Blake?” 

Gwen pulled open the back door. Blake was on the porch, his hands were braced on the railing and his head bowed down. His posture screamed his embarrassment and regret and self-reproach.

“Blake don't blame yourself,” Gwen said tentatively. “I--did something wrong right? It was me, not you.”

Blake flinched and started to lift his head, before he turned away. She knew it was freezing and grabbed one of his coats before following him outside. She draped the coat over his back, feeling an uncharacteristic twinge of regret.

She stepped back, putting two feet of space between their bodies, and watched. 

Blake inhaled deeply, his eyes fixed on the faint illumination the moon spilled through the snow. Slowly, he straightened and put on the jacket. He zipped it to the collar and tugged it up to reveal his handgun for quick access. He was cold and he still felt threatened.

She messed up and she would give anything to make it better.

“Did I hurt you?” Blake asked, breaking the silence.  

Gwen shook her head, though Blake wasn’t watching her directly. “No. I’m okay.”

Blake’s exhale was too sharp to be anything but disbelief.

“I should have known. I  _ did  _ know and I still--”

“No,” Gwen interrupted. “Stop it. I’m not upset, I’m not angry. You didn't do anything wrong.”

“You can’t stay,” he said as he turned to face her. “I swore I wouldn't put my hands on another human being in that--in that  _ way,  _ Gwen. For reasons--for  _ obvious  _ reasons.”

“You just need an escape. I trapped you earlier. You felt like you had nowhere to go and I'm so sorry for that. But we can do this, I just have to make sure you know you can breathe around me.” She pleaded.

“That's the problem, I can't.” He turned away again.

“I’ll make sure you can. I’ll give you as much space as you need.”

Space meant safety. She could do that for him.

“Gwen--”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Why?” Blake demanded more sharply as he turned back to face her. “After what happened--”

“What happened,” Gwen interrupted again, “was perfectly understandable. I should have seen it happening.”

Blake took a step closer, “You just don't get it. You should have never had to look in the first place. I shouldn't be afraid to touch you and you shouldn’t have to second-guess yourself when you do.”

“That’s a small roadblock that you will overcome,” Gwen said calmly. She lifted her hands carefully, holding them out towards Blake in an inviting manner. The easiest way to ensure Blake was comfortable would be to put the decisions in his hands. “Trust me, Blake. Trust me and see what we could do  _ together _ .”

He glanced down at her hands and licked his lips. “I should be askin’ you to trust me after what I did,” he said quietly.

“You won’t--” Gwen cut off, realizing using the words ‘hurt’ or ‘assault me’ would only reinforce Blake’s reticence. “You can’t tell me you didn’t at least enjoy what we did in there. Why are you denying yourself happiness?”

Between the faint light radiating through the window and the chill that turned every inch of exposed skin ruddy, it was impossible to tell if Blake was flushing. His chin came up almost defiantly and he admitted, “I did.”

“So why can't you see that you can enjoy it just like the rest of us. You’re punishing yourself, Blake.”

“I’m not.” His smile was brief. “I'm surviving. This is how I cope. It's how I manage. It's what helps me get through the day and be able to tell you that I’m fine. I keep my distance and I keep the drugs and everyone is better off for it.”

“Not everyone,” she said.

“No. But enough that I’m happy with.”

“You’re not happy, though.”

“Jesus, Gwen, will you stop?”

“No, because I know you despite what you think. You want me. And it’s obvious that I want you.”

“It’s still not a good idea.”

“I won’t let you hurt me.”

Blake’s smile vanished.  _ Ah, there it is. _

She sees everything at once in that expression. Blake was everything, in that moment. He was both entirely logical and singularly irrational; beautiful and jarring, unstable and yet, in that, constant. In the span of a sentence, he could be kind and cruel, prideful and self hating, unyielding and strong and yet undeniably needy. He was indescribably incandescent. He was everything. He was also inexplicably capable of the worst harm known to man. The things that have been done to him were not humane, or poetic, or in any way justifiable. But he's seen hell, visited it more often than not, bared the marks and cuts and scars to prove it. He’s seen what one person can do to another, because it's already been done to him. Blake thinks he will do far worse things to her.

_ He's a tragedy waiting to be read and recited but doesn’t know whose fingers are strong enough to flip the pages, whose voice is loud enough to say the words. _

“You can’t know that.” He speaks clearly.

“I do know that. You’re capable of more than you know.”

With a flinch that was more surprise than stung, Blake said, “I know exactly what I can do, Gwen. I have limits and you’re trying to push them.”

“To make you stronger. To make you see that there is power in knowing your limits. But there is also power in knowing exactly how far they will go.”

“You won't stop will you?”

“Blake. Either you can trust that I know what I’m doing, or we can both freeze to death discussing it.”

Blake laughed and the sight warmed her. “What exactly...the kids are here and Adam and Beha--”

“I don’t care. So come here,” she insisted, twitching her fingers invitingly, both to get Blake moving and to prove to herself that her fingers hadn’t frozen solid.

Thankfully, Blake closed the last step between them as their fingers awkwardly intertwined. The contact did nothing to share body heat, but Gwen was too caught up in Blake’s mood to care.

“We should go back inside,” Blake said quietly, looking down at her. Their coats brushed together with a soft whisper of fabric that wasn’t enough.

“We will.” She stretched her legs up, standing on her tippy toes. It didn't bring her to his exact height but it didn't matter. She would have been much more comfortable spreading her legs to get Blake’s body pressed against hers anyway, but she wanted to avoid even the hint of trapping or surrounding Blake again. “First, I want another kiss.”

Blake’s gaze flicked down to Gwen’s mouth. His pulse jumped in his throat, a hard spike that was just as much confirmation that he wanted this right as the soft brush of Blake’s lips that followed a moment later. They were both cold and getting sniffly, but the heat of Blake’s mouth as her lips parted was more than enough to push snow and the cold out of her mind and focus instead on the feel of Blake’s teeth under her tongue. She encouraged his lips to part further and shuddered pleasantly at the way Blake melted against her.

As the kiss grew heated, Gwen had to work to remember not to clench her fingers around his. She let him break the kiss naturally and for a few seconds, Blake pressed his cheek to Gwen’s until their cold skin started to warm up.

“Inside?” Blake invited, with no sign of hesitation or anxiety in his voice.

Gwen laughed, reveling in the way he shivered as warm breath swept over his ear. “You’ll have to be more specific. Inside what? Or who?”

Blake’s inhale was a hiss of surprise that Gwen ignored in favor of biting back a laugh at how his body shivered once again, this time not from the cold. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath.

She had never heard him curse like  _ that  _ before.

“Tonight? After everyone’s asleep?” Gwen murmured into the night’s cold air.

Blake nodded, “I can’t believe I'm gonna sneak into my own room,” Blake said with a laugh.

He released one hand but kept the other, leading Gwen into the warmth of the house.


	6. Take my hand, take my whole life too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the beautiful, heart wrenching song Can't Help Falling In Love, by Elvis Presley, as are the lyrics to start the chapter. I recommend giving it a listen as this song was most of my inspiration for writing this chapter.

_Shall I stay, would it be a sin, If I can't help falling in love with you?_

 

It was just her luck that Adam would want to go for a night walk with Blake as soon as they got in. 

When hour two had past, she started to grow worried but then she heard noises in the kitchen, the beautiful sound of hushed laughter and beer bottles being opened. Gwen returned back to her phone screen, the book she was reading completely blurring the edges of her pupils. She turned off the screen and decided to just close her eyes for a moment.

She was drifting at the edge of sleep when she heard the door open and Blake came in, lighting his way with his phone.

"Hey," Gwen said softly, rousing herself. "Everything all right?"

"I didn't mean to wake you." Blake sat down on the edge of the bed. In the faint light, Gwen could see he'd already changed into his pajama pants and a white t-shirt. He must have snuck in earlier to get his things out of the drawers. Gwen hadn't even heard him. Had she really been asleep already?

What time was it?

"Wasn't sleeping," Gwen said and saw his back shake with a small, inconceivable chuckle. She scooted back to make room for him. She’d somehow gravitated toward the middle of the bed, not used to sleeping with someone in months.

“Come here,” she whispered. Blake turned his head to the side slightly, his beautiful jaw tense. Gwen sat up and scooted closer to him, careful not to crowd him. “Kiss me.” Her hands grabbed the hem of her sweater and tossed it aside, despite the distant chill in the room. The fireplace was going but it was so  _ cold,  _ all the time. “Blake.” She murmured softly against the side of his cheek. “Touch me.” She felt more than saw his eyes close and she let Blake draw her close for another kiss, and for a few minutes, she let herself be distracted by the feel of Blake’s mouth on hers before the kiss turned into sharper bites along her jaw and throat. Without any hint of hesitation, Blake’s hands went to the button up that was underneath the sweater. As he opened the first three buttons, he moved down to taste the newly exposed skin, his body twisting and contorting delightfully to reach at the new places he was allowed to touch.

There wasn’t a hint of anxiety about Blake now, and Gwen’s growing arousal spiked further. She could practically here another puzzle piece clicking perfectly into place.

Almost.

At the fourth button, Blake paused, leaning his forehead against Gwen’s sternum before he rose from his crouch. “Shit. Gwen, I--I don’t,” he trailed off, suddenly awkward and avoiding meeting her eyes.

“What's wrong?” 

“I need--God it's been  _ years.  _ Can we...can we talk? Maybe, can we just--”

“Of course.”

Blake stared at her before his lips curved up just slightly. “You’re so good. What are you doin’ with me?” He asked.

_ Loving you. _

“What do you want to talk about?” She says instead.

“I--I don't know.”

“Okay, that's fine. Just...lay down. We’ll talk and lay here the whole night if you want.”

“You sure this is alright?” Blake asked as he got under the covers.

“I'm sure.”

They both lay there silently for a bit. Gwen heard Blake inhale a couple of times, abruptly, as if he were about to say something. Gwen’s heart thudded wildly, banging against her ribs so hard she'd have been surprised if Blake couldn't feel it through the mattress.

Finally, Blake blurted, "I've never shared a bed with anyone before."

"Never," she asked carefully, unwilling to jump to any sort of conclusion at that rather provocative opening. Not even with Miranda? No, she was not even going to speculate.

Blake took another sharp breath. "I joined the army right after high school. I didn't even share a bunk. When I got home I stayed with Adam for a little bit and then went on my way.”

“You never...maybe with a girlfriend?”

“I never had one of those either. I mean, yes I’ve had sex but having sex is different from sleeping with someone. I never sleep anyways and back then it was even worse. It’s kind of hard to share a bad when you’re never in it, you know?”

_ I know. Except I was the one always in bed, waiting and waiting. _

“Yeah.” She says lamely.

A beat of silence, and then, “So what exactly are you hidin’?”

“I told you I'm not hiding anything.”

Blake folded his hands over his chest. “It's about your husband.”

“He's dead.”

“Right, dead husband. What are you hiding about him," Blake pondered, the words tumbling out. “It has to be something and there is something but you don't want to tell me. You think I won’t understand,” he says, slowly, like he's processing as he goes. “You think--whatever it is--you think it’s beyond my understanding. Love, just as it is, is made up by the weaker minds to make them feel more secure in the world where everybody dies alone. I'm no good at love, I know that, I don't understand it. But secrets? Secrets so deeply buried that digging starts to prove to be ineffective, I know those all too well. I understand that. So you don't have to be scared or ashamed to tell me which one you're hiding.”

Gwen turned so she was all the way on her side, facing Blake. Her heart in her throat, the tendrils squeezing, nudging, prompting. It was inevitable. Meeting him, wanting him, trusting him when all the signs pointed away. She leans in and his head turns to the side to face her. A moment later their noses brush, chins bumping, a chuckle, a touch, lips against lips. A breath. A heartbeat. An eternity.

There was a moment's respite. A breath. And then a confession.

“He was having an affair. The night he died was the night I found out about it. I was a mess...there was so much screaming and tears and then he left. It wasn't hard to figure out where he would go and the whole night I--I kept thinking how much I wanted him--how much I wanted him to die. I wanted lightning to strike him, I wanted someone to stab him in a dark alley, I wanted a gun to shoot him in the chest. I got the phone call hours later. And then I realize that the thing I really wanted most was for him to come home. He never did that night and I know it's because I--I should have never thought those things.”

She liked his skin and she sought refuge there as she let the tears fall gently. It felt soft and warm, as if she was covered in some sort of blanket. Blood blanket, she realized abruptly. Blood was always warm. In his veins, it might even be heated. A short stab of pain burnt her mouth. And the air in her lungs felt heavy and motionless--like first drops of boiling water into thick, muddy coffee.

“Human beings are the most unpredictable variable the world has.” He says in her hair.

She looks up and their eyes meet. There was too much emotion there, the sensations overwhelming, too intense. Gwen had to close her eyes again, seek Blake blindly, find him unerringly. It was easier to speak with their bodies. With their lips and tongues and hands. Gwen’s hand smoothed down Blake’s back and Blake’s slid over her ass, tugging her closer, snugging their hips together. She gasped against his mouth.

“I was so angry at him. The betrayal I felt…” She whispered.

“Affairs are interesting.”

“Interesting?” She mouth at his lips gently.

“Interesting. It allows one person to ease their way into occupied spaces. Think of all the things you shared with your husband, all the places you reached and touched, every scar and scratch you traced. You thought they were your's, you thought you were the only one to have been there, in those secret and private spots. But somehow, another person managed to see what you saw, feel what you felt. It's not yours anymore. And eventually, you start to wonder if it ever really was in the first place. If it's so easy for another to stand by you, to one day eventually stand where you are now, why is it so hard to comprehend the fact that you weren't just replaceable, you were...inconsequential.”

_ In the span of a sentence, he could be kind and cruel. _

“Blake--”

“My mom had an affair...That's where Adam came in. He was unwanted, and unloved. Even as a child I knew he wasn't somethin’ people wanted to be proud of. And yet, I owe that man my life. He's saved it one too many times and I thought he was the worst thing that could have ever happened to me at one point. He ruined my family, my perfect family just by bein’ born. I wished him dead so many times as a kid and I know for a fact that he never not once wished the same on me. Your words didn't kill your husband, Gwen. His actions did. There's some secrets that are better left buried. This isn't one of them. Forgive yourself.”

“How?”

“Take that betrayal, and the hurt, and the shame, and the knife out of your heart. Put it down and never pick it back up. Don't look at it and don't use it to hurt anyone else. No matter how much they hurt you.”

A raw, keening sound built in the back of her throat, in her chest, her lips pressed firmly together as if to contain the onslaught.

_ I love him.  _ The thought fills her with dread. Loving Blake. Not in the way she’s used to or wants either, overwhelming and happy and bright, in breathless chases through snow covered ground and sleepless nights when the only thing that mattered was being there when Blake needed another piece put back together. No, Gwen loves him like you love a hurricane, with all the proper respect it deserves, and with full awareness that it will come and it will rip you to shreds. It’s not normal, it’s not safe, it’s not even consensual.

  
He would be appalled.


	7. We have an unspoken beautiful thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the song Unspoken, by Alex Burey, as are the lyrics to start the chapter. I recommend giving it a listen as this song was most of my inspiration for writing this chapter.

_Didn't I make you feel good, didn't I make you feel loved._

 

She twisted sideways on the bed even more, bending one leg up under the other, and touched Blake’s face to draw him closer. She notices that Blake was still wearing at least two layers of shirts, now that she feels the added thickness beneath her palm. 

“Do you forgive easily?” Gwen asked him quietly, pitching her voice low and intimate. Blake’s shiver was subtle but very much present.

“Yes.” Blake muttered, closing the last inch to lick at Gwen’s lips.

She laughed into the kiss before she moved back and laid down on her side, propped up on one elbow. “How does a soldier--a human like you, who's been through everything I’m sure...forgive so easily?”

Blake followed her down, distant enough that he could comfortably let his eyes roam over her body. “I’m the type of person that counts to ten but gives up at two. When you give up and give in so quickly like me, it's kind of hard not to do the same with forgiveness. I could be mad at you for an entire month but have forgiven you that day,” he said quietly, pressing a finger against Gwen’s body to trace the line of one rib.

“That doesn't sound healthy. I mean if you forgive everyone all the time just as quickly as they hurt you, when will they ever stop? You don't deserve a life of accepting pain all of the time, even if you expect it.” Gwen answered logically, fighting to keep her voice steady as the touch skimmed the edge between enticing and ticklish.

Blake shook his head, flattening his hand around the curve of Gwen’s ribs. “People get what they get. It has nothing to do with what they deserve...”

_ Prideful and self-hating. _

Irritation prickled through Gwen, adding sharpness to her voice as she asked, “Are you always going to be this difficult?”

Blake snapped, “Are you always going to be this demanding--” and then cut himself off, brows pulled down in sudden determination. “Fuck it. You think one thing, I think another. Let's agree to disagree.”

“You know not talking about it is a problem.” She warned but there was no real heat behind it.

“It’s only a problem if you have a solution.” He wormed his way closer and slid his hand down to Gwen’s hip, fingers hooking possessively into the fabric of her sweats. “What do you want to do?”

“Whatever you need.” It was genuine and filthy and Gwen prided herself as Blake exhaled, abrupt and unsteady.

_ Perfect. _

 

* * *

__

 

Miranda was interesting, and attractive, and sweet. She was what Blake should have wanted, but not what he did want, and what he did want, he could not have. She didn't know about his addiction and only knew of some of the events that plagued him from the war. In ignorance, she tried numerous times to get him to open up. And he tried, for her sake, for Adam’s...but he never tried for himself. And he knows why, now. Intensity of any kind was too close to his triggers for him to risk an attack for the selfish reward of sexual gratification.

Except for now, at least a little, because Gwen was receptive, thoughtless and yet, thoughtful. She was spoiled but burdened, and incredibly understanding, which in everyone else brought with it sympathy that inevitably fell into pity. Blake couldn’t imagine Gwen being malevolent to anyone but he could see her apologizing for redemption.  _ I’m sorry that I had to hurt you, so I could heel.  _ The words fit her down to a T. She didn't pity anyone, and she probably never could. She was so private but trusting. And here she was, sprawled on Blake’s bed, raising her hips to help get rid of her pants and underwear, pale skin and long legs and everything exposed to Blake’s sight and hands. She watched as if Blake were the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen, her eyes gone dark from the low firelight, her pupils dilated and her eyelids lowered. Her lashes were incredibly dark against her face, which had resumed its pallor without winter’s bite to add color to her cheeks.

Unprompted, Gwen moved up the bed and twisted so she was no longer lying across it. When Blake reached for the blanket, Gwen huffed a smile but complied, contorting herself to get underneath it once again. Still fully dressed, Blake followed her, remembering to snag a condom that he got from Adam’s suitcase out of the nightstand. 

He fought his way further under the blanket, pushing Gwen’s legs apart so he could settle between them. Weight braced on his good arm, he slipped his free hand over the inside of Gwen’s thigh, smiling in the darkness as he listened to Gwen’s breath catch. One hand came down to brush through his hair, but there was no twist or pull--only a gentle, almost tentative touch that wasn’t enough but also wasn’t too much.

Using his own hand as a guide, Blake pressed a quick, dry kiss to Gwen’s leg. Then he licked, tongue pressed hard against her skin, moving slowly and taking his time to taste and feel. Gwen’s fingers clenched in his curls, a momentary reflex that she conquered almost immediately, pulling back quickly in apology, leaving only the memory of a sting on his scalp.

Blake inched up the bed, biting back a groan as the movement made his pants grow tighter. He trailed his tongue up the crease at the top of Gwen’s thigh, and Gwen brought up her legs and twitched her hips in response.

“Blake,” she complained, the sound muffled slightly by the heavy blanket.

Blake laughed, intentionally turning his head to the side, knowing his breath would be warm on her center. “Hmm?”

“We don't have all night--” She cut off with a moan as Blake wrapped a hand around her thigh and gently moved his mouth down, circling the base of her clit with his tongue.

Despite all the health lectures on safe sex he endured through high school and the medical courses on STIs they gave in the army, he couldn’t help but take a risk and swipe his tongue over the folds, holding Gwen steady as her hips bucked up again. The fingers in Blake’s hair went tight. This time, they didn’t relax, fanning his arousal from a slow burn to a blaze, and he couldn’t stop himself from taking Gwen in his mouth, sucking and nipping.

For a moment, he held still, pressing up with his tongue, feeling the soft flesh against his lips, before he carefully moved down. It had been far too long since he’d done this, but he’d once been good at it. He licked generously, extravagantly, pulling off to lick his lips when she coated his mouth, before he went back down, each time letting his tongue go deeper inside of her. Gwen’s breathing went ragged, and a hot spike of arousal and satisfaction cut through him, spurring him on until he was steadily only breathing through his nose and then holding it, trying to remember this feeling of a heady sensation, licking, sucking, swallowing. Gwen’s hands suddenly fisted hard, tearing strands of hair free as she pulled Blake up.

“Not how I want to finish,” she panted, flailing to throw the blanket off.

Blake pressed a hand to his cock as he scrambled up her body. He could feel himself leaking, even through his boxers, he was so hard. It was as if years and years of celibacy had turned him into a teenager again.

“What do you want?” He asked, trying not to whimper when he had to get his hand off his cock and onto the bed to support his weight. Gwen’s hand took its place, and the moan, which sounded like a whimper to his ears, rang out again. His shoulder was hurting but the rest of his body wasn't so he called it a win. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“I already did,” she said in a tone that was an intoxicating combination of commanding but also desperate and needy.

“This is about you too,” Blake muttered, sitting up enough to feel around for where he’d put the lubricant. Gwen caught hold of it first and said, “Pants. Shirts.”

A knot of tension deep in his chest twisted when Gwen mentioned his layers. She’d already seen him, the more gruesome parts, and it's not like she would flinch away in surprise. But she might flinch away in disgust, because they’re ugly. Because  _ he  _ is ugly. He won’t try to romanticize that, won't try and compare them to beauty and the beast, and certainly won’t try to be anything different.

“Blake?”

He kicked off his pants and boxers but left his night shirt on. Propping herself up on one elbow, Gwen spread her legs, braced her feet on the bed, and tossed the bottle of lubricant onto the mattress between her feet. He saw the flash of disappointment in her eyes as he kept the article of clothing on but Blake ignored it in favor of picking the bottle up and said, “It’d be easier if you lie back.”

“I want to watch.”

Four simple words should not have shattered Blake’s self-control as they did, and his hands shook a bit as he snapped open the cap, and spilled a slippery puddle into his hand. He made himself comfortable between Gwen’s legs and swiped one finger over her entrance.

Gwen’s breath hissed before she snapped her teeth shut. She lifted her hips more, encouragingly, and Blake carefully pressed in, just enough to feel the tight muscle before he drew back and circled her inner walls. His tongue had been a soft presence inside of her but Blake knows his finger was much more blunt no matter how much he slicked it with the oil. Plus, Gwen had said something about being celibate for months after her husband died, so Blake took his time easing one finger in, though his motivations were more than a little self-centered. For him, it had been years, and he wanted to luxuriate in the tight heat and the intimacy of the moment.

With careful, gentle motions, he encouraged her body to relax, until his finger was as deep inside as he could manage. He twisted slowly and pulled out just a bit, then back in, gently pressing and relaxing and sliding muscles over sensitive nerve endings that had Gwen twitching.

“Can you come like this?” Blake asked, his voice low and rough.

Gwen’s eyes flew open and she glared at Blake. It was probably meant to be fierce but came off as desperate instead. “We can try and find out another time. But I need you now.”

“Just a little more--”

“Now.”

He couldn’t refuse. Ignoring the tiny protest that came from his mind that she wasn't stretched enough, he eased his finger out, unable to resist crooking it up slightly to get one last tiny gasp from her throat. Gwen’s moan made Blake fumble in his attempts to rip open the condom packet, and before he could catch himself, he asked, “Next time, I want to use my hands and mouth to do that.”

Gwen lifted her head off the pillow to stare at him, eyes blown wide and dark. “Inside me. Now,” she said roughly.

Somehow, Blake got the condom on without tearing it and without coming on the spot. He snatched up the nearby bottle, flipped open the cap, and slathered lubricant over his cock as quickly as he could. Then he swiped more over Gwen’s entrance in one last effort to avoid hurting her. Gwen hissed out an impatient curse and pulled Blake up over herself, one hand fisted in Blake’s T-shirt, the other wrapped around the back of his neck.

Barely prepared, Gwen was tight, and hot, and he clenched his teeth and tried to go as slowly as possible. Braced with one hand on the mattress, he reached for Gwen’s clitoris, thinking to distract her from what had to hurt and burn, but Gwen caught his wrist tightly for a moment, before she let go and pushed his hand away instead.

“You first,” she insisted, pulling her knees back further. Blake slipped another half-inch deeper, making them both go momentarily breathless. “I want you to come first.”

The words twisted deep inside Blake, spiking his arousal to dangerous levels. He wasn’t going to last two minutes like this, and it wasn't  _ fucking fair _ . He dared to thrust a little bit harder, whispering, “Oh, fuck, Gwen,” at the pressure and heat.

“Yes,” Gwen hissed. “Come on.”

With a growl, Blake tensed up and pushed the last couple of inches inside, pressure building in his cock, hot fire burning through his gut and chest and into his throat. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes as he pulled back, the drag over his cock too much to resist. He lasted for all of ten seconds that felt like an eternity before the searing pressure in him reached a breaking point. One last thrust and the world went white, a single pinpoint of pleasure shattering into flames that pulsed with each twitch of his hips.

When he could think and move again, he withdrew slowly, on the verge of being painfully oversensitive, and rolled onto his side. He missed the pillow but didn't give a fuck. He considered removing the condom, but at the moment, that was too much effort and his limbs wouldn't cooperate even if he tried.

Gwen’s long, elegant fingers slid back through his sweaty hair, making him blink his eyes open to meet her heated gaze. “Next time I say now, don’t argue with me,” she said in an insufferably self-satisfied tone of voice.

Blake felt his cheeks burn. “Next time, I’ll try to last more than thirty fucking seconds,” he muttered into the bed sheets. “Assumin’ you even want a next time.”

“Of course I do. I said I want whatever you need. You needed that.” She tugged on Blake’s hair, and Blake opened his eyes, turning to look at her. “Now it's my turn,” she whispered and the flames reignited in his gut.

“What--” He cut off, thinking of being under Gwen, trapped under her weight again, caught up in her soft limbs, but impossibly scorching body, and his breath turned to ice.

But she made no effort to move from where she lay. Instead, she gave Blake’s hair another pull, this time suggestively down towards her hips. “Do what you wanted earlier.”

After one confused moment, Blake realized what Gwen was saying. He breathed easier as he let her guide him back down, grateful for even a temporary reprieve. She reached for him to strip off the used condom, and they both made things more difficult by kissing again.

Finally, Blake tossed the soiled latex into the bin across the room and settled back down between her legs as Gwen collapsed back onto the pillows. He kicked the tangled blankets away, settled his mouth down over her, swiping his tongue over the wet folds. Gwen’s sigh was very nearly the purr of a contented cat.

“Talk to me, Gwen.” He briefly called up before licking at her clitoris again.

“...Fuck, that’s good. St--start with two fingers. Remind me how good it felt to have you inside me.”

He groaned and lavished her with long, slow licks, feeling hot skin underneath the nerve endings of his tongue, and he flailed with one hand until he found the lubricant. He flicked the bottle open with his thumb, catching the nail, and spilled the contents over the fingers of his right hand. He closed the bottle, tossed it aside, and used his left hand to steady her thigh. He slid two fingers inside, not fast but steady and inexorable, loving the way Gwen’s body had opened just enough that he didn’t have to fight or worry about hurting her. Gwen’s fingers combed through Blake’s hair, not pushing but holding him with gentle pressure. “Can you go deeper?” She asked in a whispery voice.

Hand or mouth? Blake wanted to ask, but he didn’t want to stop. He settled for looking up the length of her body, glowing under the faint sheen of sweat that caught the moonlight. Meeting Gwen’s gaze sent a shock through Blake, and he felt his cock twitch and try to rise to the occasion again, despite his age and the force with which he’d come only minutes before.

So he attempted both, pushing his fingers in until he felt the ring of muscles strain against his hand, licking her nub and plunging his tongue beside his fingers inside of her as deep as he could. Gwen writhed underneath him.

She was talking, her voice a low purr that stroked along his bones, shivering down his spine without the words actually registering in his consciousness. Instead, Gwen spoke to him through the fingers twisted in his hair, the pulse of blood in her body, the way her hips lifted with every sharp, fast exhale.

Blake knew the moment Gwen’s self-control started to break. She planted her feet on the mattress and braced to thrust up hard into Blake’s mouth, fucking herself on his fingers. Through one stroke of Blake’s fingers, then another, and then a third, Gwen bit down on her tongue to keep quiet. Needing to tip her over the edge however, Blake twisted his hand and pulled out, then pushed back in hard, using three fingers this time along with his tongue.

Gwen’s curse was Blake’s only warning before the fingers in his hair went painfully tight, and the next thrust nearly knocked his head back. Blake didn’t fight it--willed himself not to--and just relaxed into it, concentrating on the press of his tongue and the way his fingers curled. Heat spread through his body and he realized he was rutting against the mattress, but he didn’t free up one hand to take hold of himself.

Then Gwen’s knees drew up and her body shook and her hands went still, pulling Blake almost all the way up and off as her muscles clamped down around his fingers. Her orgasm pulsed stronger than the racing beat of her heart. His body screamed at him for his own release, but he didn’t move either hand until the last of her spasms had slowed and stopped.

Blake pulled back, gently easing his fingers out of Gwen’s body, careful of how over-sensitized she had to be. He blinked to clear his eyes and rolled onto his back, his right hand moving down to circle his own cock, realizing her juices had coated his fingers. He groaned.

At his side, the mattress dipped. “Baby, let me,” Gwen offered, warm, long fingers wrapping over Blake’s.

He didn’t have it in him to refuse her anything. He let his hand fall away and felt the smooth softness of Gwen’s palm swipe over the glans. “Fuck,” he whispered. Need burned through him, but he wasn’t so close that he could come with a single touch. He draped his forearm over his eyes to block out sight and concentrate on how his body felt.

Gwen moved again. Her grasp went away and Blake momentarily freaked out before she was back, grip slick and hot. “Relax,” she whispered in his ear before taking the lobe in her mouth to suck.

He obeyed and in three quick, light strokes, Gwen had him moaning. She took her time, teasing him and finding exactly how to unravel his self-control all over again. When the orgasm finally came, it was almost hypnotic, hot pulses sweeping through his body, leaving a tingling euphoria in their wake. Gwen’s touch turned even lighter, just enough to coax him through, drawing out the pleasure until he was dizzy and exhausted. Relieved of the stress and tension that constantly weighed him down everyday, he felt as though he were floating.

Then a rough softness fell over his hips, and he moved his arm and looked down to see a towel. A T-shirt and fresh boxers followed, tossed at him from the dresser where Gwen stood, pale body traced with shadow and dull silver highlights cast by the night’s sky.

“I’m going to clean up.” She closed the dresser drawer and walked to the bed, gracefully leaning down on both knees to press a kiss to Blake’s lips. “Will you stay? We can set an alarm for you to go back to the couch in the morning.”

Blake’s throat went tight at the invitation. He wanted to say yes--he almost did say yes--but he closed his eyes and found the strength to say, “No.” Then, because he felt guilty, he added, “You’ll sleep better without--”

Gwen silenced him with another kiss. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She smiled at him softly and then pushed up off the bed and crossed to the bedroom, disappearing into the bathroom across the hall, closing the door quietly. A moment later, Blake heard the water start to run in the sink.

He cleaned himself up, wishing he could trust himself enough to stay, and not just because the bed was infinitely more comfortable than the sofa. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d fallen asleep beside someone, and after what he and Gwen had just shared, he knew he should stay.  It was the gentlemen thing to do but all the more reason not to take that risk. 

He changed his clothes quickly, conscious that Gwen could come back in at any moment and see him. Shivering at the chill in the room, he tossed his clothes in the laundry basket with Gwen’s, put another couple of logs on the fire to start it for her, and then left.

He built up the fire in the living room and went to the couch, automatically reaching for the side table where he kept his gun before realizing he’d left it in the bedroom. The water was off, which meant Gwen was probably in bed, possibly asleep, but Blake knew he’d never be comfortable unarmed, he needed it with him at all times.

Quietly, he went to the bedroom door, only to have it open as he reached for it, startling him. Gwen was dressed in a silk robe this time. She extended her arm, and Blake realized she was carrying his holstered gun, offering it to him.

“I knew you needed it.”  

Blake stopped to look at her eyes, taking the weapon carefully. “Thank you.”

Gwen nodded. “If you change your mind, you’re welcome to join me,” she invited, leaning up to press a careful kiss against the side of his mouth. “I want you to.” She smiled at him one last time before leaving the door open as she went to the bed. It was too dark even for the fire for Blake to clearly see more than the shift of the blanket as the mattress creaked.

Blake looked on longingly, hesitating with his hand on the doorknob before he finally makes his decision. He closes the bedroom door softly, and retreats back to the couch. He put the .45 on the side table and wrapped up in his blanket. He stared at the fire for what felt like hours, until exhaustion finally dragged him under.

 


	8. A stoic mind and a bleeding heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the beautiful song Reminders, by Mumford and Sons, as are the lyrics to start the chapter. I recommend giving it a listen as this song was most of my inspiration for writing this chapter.

_I won't know if I'm doing you wrong, I never know if i'm doing you wrong._

 

It’s some time in the morning, too early and still too late. The house is quiet, dark, and surprisingly warm. Gwen tip toes pass the living room, glancing at a sleeping Blake on the couch. It's the first time she's ever seen him in a slumber, considering he always wakes before her. She smiles at how little she can actually see of his body. There are three blankets covering his tall form, only a patch of dark curls visible. She turns away and walks quietly to the kitchen, which is slightly colder than the rest of the house. It’s a little disconcerting to be standing there all by herself at god knows what time in the morning. The stone tile floor is frigid under her bare feet. She wants to be sleeping still, but the loud grumbling of her stomach has proven persistent enough to not be ignored, waking her from a dead sleep only minutes ago. With a sigh, Gwen pulls open the door to the refrigerator. She immediately grabs the carton of mango juice sitting front and center, and contemplates coffee to clear the lingering fog in her head as she stares blankly at the remaining contents of the fridge.

She just doesn’t know. It's weird anyways to be cooking at this time and what if she wakes someone up? She huffs in irritation at the lack of leftovers as well. 

She closes the fridge door and goes to get a glass from the cabinet. Gwen turns her attention to poking through the cabinets once she gets a couple of sips in her stomach. The bag of Doritos is so tempting, she almost makes a grab for it, but then remembers how unhealthy it would be. With a sigh, she finds a pan and a small bottle of oil before going back to the fridge.

The plastic carton of eggs is full and she doesn’t even feel bad about taking the last few, and it’s almost a relief when they’re finally in the hot pan beginning to cook. There’s a bowl of apples on the counter and she grabs one, taking a huge bite while she moves the eggs around with a spatula. She’s so focused on what she’s doing, silently willing the eggs to cook faster while at the same time praying they don’t burn, that she doesn’t even notice she isn’t alone anymore.

“What’re you doin’?”

Gwen jumps out of her skin at the sound of Blake’s voice and spins on her heels, spatula clutched to her chest. “I was hungry and--”

She paused once the sight of Blake standing there, sleepy eyed and deliciously disheveled, still marked, dressed in loose pajama pants and a t-shirt, flooded her senses. He looks completely fucked out, if Gwen is honest with herself. He looks the way Gwen feels with aching muscles and a satisfying sense of lingering fatigue; it’s enough to make her stomach clench in an entirely different way.

“D’you know what time it is?”

“I was starving,” Gwen answers petulantly, turning back for a moment to check the pan. “I didn't mean to wake you, I didn't even know I was being loud.”

Blake was smiling as he crossed the room, and Gwen had to turn around again to find her breath. No such luck, because then he was pressing close, one hand warm, the other cool, and Gwen wonders how in the hell that happened, as they make contact with her stomach, hands bunching up fabric as they make their way underneath to find bare skin. She turns off the stove immediately, before Blake begins to derail her mission entirely.

“You weren’t. I just hear more than you know,” Blake says, and it sounds so close to a rumble, low and thick, his mouth pressed just behind her ear.

“Blake.”

It’s meant to be the beginning of a protest--Blake’s fingers are trailing along the lace waistband of her panties, his mouth making its way along Gwen’s jaw. Her eyes are falling closed, and she’s leaning into the warmth of Blake’s body, his touch. It's the first time he's really initiating something and she shouldn't be pushing him away. It's progress, but it's also incredibly dangerous out in the open like this.

She wasn’t even sure what to expect for their morning after, didn’t know if it would be awkward or if they’d carry on like nothing had happened last night. Eager fingers slipping under lace let's her know he definitely doesn't regret it.

“Fuck,” she breathes, and Blake is laughing against her, breath warm against her hair. “I need food more than I need sex.” She says as she turns around.

“We could have both?”

“What’s gotten into you? I had to literally pry you open last night and now look at you.” She winces after she says it, even before the look on Blake’s face has a chance to change. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I know it's...hard for you.”

Blake chooses not to answer, and instead goes to pour himself his own glass of the juice. He sits down at the island across from her. It's a minute before anyone breaks the silence.

“You sometimes look like you’re walkin’ on glass around me,” Blake speaks up. “I’m makin’ you uncomfortable. We can stop, if that's what you want.”

“No. We’re fine,” Gwen says. “I’m sorry, it’s fine, Blake.” Her voice is soft and warm, and Gwen makes her way around the counter over to him. Blake is looking at her a little like he did the night before only not quite as intense, his feelings written all over his face and his expression so very fond yet anxious.

“I was tryin’ to be normal...” He murmurs as Gwen reaches out, draping her arms around the back of his neck and using the short baby curls there to tug him closer. 

“I know.” She whispers back and her apology comes in the form of a kiss this time, soft and lingering, until Blake finally puts his hands on her again. The fact that he has to think about what a 'normal' person would do in any given situation makes her heart break.

"Take me back to bed?” She murmurs softly before she’s pressing their mouths together again, and she feels just as much as hears Blake’s groan. It’s enough to make her smile into the kiss, pressing closer as Blake’s arms tighten around her waist. She’s almost halfway in his lap before he pushes her back gently. She goes willingly, but leaves her hands firmly where they are in his hair.

“I actually--I need to do something.” Blake coughs awkwardly, avoiding her eyes.

“Do you need help?” Is all she thinks to say.

His eyes dance but he just shakes his head. “No, I’m good.”

He raises from the stool to plant a chaste kiss on her forehead.

In hindsight, she should have noticed the thin layer of sweat covering his skin, or the imperceptible vibration crawling beneath his bones.

She should have seen. But she didn't.

 

* * *

 

It's the fact that he’s running on a very small dosage each time, that trips him up. The injections are too spaced apart but he doesn't really have much of a choice with Adam breathing down his neck and Gwen’s newfound interest in him. Regardless, he’s going through withdraw and he needs another hit to keep him going for a couple more days. 

Blake is reluctant to go back to it--not that he has many regrets, but towards the end of his last bout of using, the negatives started to outweigh the positive. He could hit rock bottom at any time with how unpredictable using is. However, an overdose isn’t likely, he’s had years to build up a tolerance and a routine. Besides, it's just another quick hit to get him through. He had a nightmare before Gwen woke him up with her cooking and he’d take anything for the dreams to go away forever. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he can't help but to think of Gwen. She'd be disappointed, possibly angry. But Gwen is also a compulsive caretaker, she needs someone to look after to function and not notice how screwed up she is herself. Blake provided her with a steady supply of internal and external damage.

So he closes his eyes and leans back against the paint splattered tarps on the floor of his cellar. He wills himself not to think of Gwen as he does it. If only Gwen was capable of bringing him focus and order; she is the perfect drug--much like cocaine, but without the side effects. He thinks she could be his new addiction, but that was a dangerous thought. This is why he avoids touches from and dependency on other people: they may be gone one day and he is left craving. Gwen will leave eventually. They all do, even Adam. Cocaine has been his only constant. He’s trained his body to think of it as such, a stimulation. His brain won’t become reliant on the substance. Only clarity, a way to drive the pain out, not function.   
  
If it helps him sleep easier, if it helps him think lighter, why should he deny himself some relief? The quicker he gets and stays high, the better chance they’ll all have at being safe and happy. And even if he does end up with a bullet in his head one day, he’ll know he did all that he could to avoid that eventual outcome. 

Blake gets up to retrieve his box behind another bottle of wine before moving to the tiny bathroom with the flickering light bulb. A pack of razor blades and a hand mirror and he’s almost good to go. Blake takes the spoon from the box. He doesn’t plan on cooking the solution this time, but the spoon makes filling the syringe easier.   
  
He looks in the mirror, suddenly, but this is the first time Blake has really looked at  _ himself _ . He's sure he's the palest he's ever been, and Blake’s almost sure that there are more wrinkles on his face than before. He looks like he's lost some weight, the skin sagged in some areas and pulled tight in others. His eyes--he closes his lids. He can't see that. Can't see what's gone from them--can't see what else he's about to take from them.

He opens his eyes again and muscle memory kicks in. With his lighter, he heats the spoon’s handle to facilitate bending it until it’s standing up in a graceful arch. It isn't the one he usually uses, but that's okay. He opens the bag and tastes the product, a slight numbness on his tongue. He doesn't exactly measure the amount this time, which is dangerous and reckless but he can't be bothered with that at the moment. Blake pours the powder onto the hand mirror and cuts with the blade, a leftover ritual from the days when he snorted it. It doesn’t serve much purpose if you inject it, but the repetitive movement calms the tremor in his hands and gets his heartbeat back under control.

When the cocaine is near dust Blake moves back to the sink to fill the vial with water. He transfers the cocaine into the liquid and puts his thumb on the opening to shake the contents, watching intently as it dissolves the drug. His mouth runs dry as he lifts his thumb from the vial, the tip glistening with a few drops of the cocaine solution. Carefully, he sticks the digit in his mouth, sucking off the liquid. For a moment, he revels in the familiarity, the nostalgia of it--it really is like greeting an old friend every time.   
  
He pours the solution into the spoon, drops it in one of the filters and watches it soak up the cocaine, filtering the particles. With a deep breath, he unwraps the syringe and needle, places the tip against the filter and slowly draws up the liquid. He holds the filled syringe against the light falling in through the only window in the cellar and taps his fingers against it to eliminate the bubbles before putting it back on the counter. The tourniquet was next, and Blake wrapped it tightly around his left arm. He usually kept a long sleeve shirt on, not just because of the cold but of the freshly red dots that litter up his arm. Some of them scar, some of them don't. But he risks taking the chance of letting Adam find out that he's using again every time he exposes his arms. 

Looking for veins in his left would take longer than he would like. Balling his hand into a fist, he finds one quickly, tapping against the crook of his elbow. Blake hesitates for a second as he picks up the syringe. He knows he needs it--not to function. He’s doing it to keep everyone around him safe. Besides, he stopped once before, he can do it again if he has to.

He licks his lips, places the needle against his skin and pushes in. Drawing the plunger back a bit, bringing a swirl of red with it that confirms he really caught a vein. He could still back out, but doesn’t want to. Not anymore. He presses the plunger fast, then pulls the needle back out, throws it on the counter and releases the tourniquet. The drug travels fast to its destination, and Blake can feel the heat crawl towards his heart before it hits.   
  
For a second, he leans back against the wall and closes his eyes until his brain accelerates to maximum speed. He flings his eyes open but sees nothing but Gwen. A disappointed face, filled with hurt and betrayal and anger. She speaks clearly, about stopping, about being so much more. And for a split second, he almost believes her. Her touch is soft, coercing. If she can make his whole body burn and stand at attention from just a touch, what will protect his head from her? Cocaine is the only thing that will save him at the end of the day, he's sure of it. 

But even as he closes his eyes once more, he knows it isn't true.

Gwen has had his body before, but Blake fears that she'll have his mind soon enough.


	9. I got my head up but I ain't got my hopes high.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the moving song Better Than Yourself, by Lukas Graham, as are the lyrics to start the chapter. I recommend giving it a listen as this song was most of my inspiration for writing this chapter.

_We both know that we owe nothing to each other, but can you blame me for loving and missing my brother._

 

Blake had no idea where he was. His head felt like a train had run over his brains, his limbs felt sluggish and his eyelids fluttered with a heaviness that he was very familiar with. He unexpectedly heard Gwen’s voice through the fog. Oh, how he loathed coming down.   
  
_ “How can I carry on with life if you let cocaine rob you of your own?” _   
  
He didn’t really remember anything else. He woke up in increments, hours later in his bedroom. Much to his dismay, reeking of vomit and wincing at the feel of it. He stumbled out of bed a few moments later to hear Adam’s voice, stopping him up short.   
  
“She’d be ashamed.” 

That ached. He didn’t know if he was referring to their mother or Gwen, but then remembered his little brother didn't know about his growing relationship with the blonde.

“Mom?” His voice felt raw and abused.

“Both.”

He gathered his heart off of the floor and swept his eyes over the warm room. “She told you?”

“She cried. Didn't take much to figure it out.” Adam said quietly.

He looked tired and utterly vexed. How many times had Adam pulled him out of the gutter? Inevitably, scooping Blake out of locations just before a raid and hauling his ass out of the fire, leaving him in hotel rooms now instead of taking him back home. Blake had destroyed his guest room trying to get out the one time Adam had made that mistake.

Blake tried to tear at the feeling of hopelessness burying itself throughout his blood in a fit of rage that only left him spent like his brother.

“You smell like shit. Behati and Gwen took the kids to Miranda’s. Take a shower.”

He could only manage a nod before throwing himself into the bathroom with little strength he still possessed.

He scrubbed himself and washed his shaggy hair, it was so long now he needed a proper haircut but he just didn’t care anymore. Mom wouldn’t be ashamed, Mom was dead. And Gwen--she wasn't ashamed. He just added one more piece to the puzzle she still hadn't figured out yet. If anything, she was  _ intrigued.  _

He hurriedly dressed and disappeared from the bathroom before Adam could corner him and give the ‘let’s go to rehab’ lecture.

The bedroom was thankfully empty when he walked back in. His nose wrinkled at the smell. It smelled like black ash and sour milk. It settled in the base of his stomach. As he got closer to the bed, the sheets were yellow and streaked, the entire affair reeking of stale meth and blood.

He pulled his black hair back in a messy tie at the back of his head and slowly dressed. His head popped through a tee with deer antlers emblazoned across the front before he slid into a pair of jeans. His .45 was in its safe, only Adam knew the pass code to. He strapped the holster around his waist and set the gun neatly back into its rightful place on his hip.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to face the music and walked out of the bedroom. The kitchen was empty, and Blake saw that it was already dark outside. The living room was only lit by the fireplace. Adam sat in the armchair, his head leaned against the back of the chair, his eyes closed.

Blake blinked at him, he cracked a half smile, not knowing why he was smiling in the first place. Huffing an empty laugh as he pressed the palm of one hand to his ear, grinding against it before shaking his head slowly. He must still be somewhat high. 

Adam shifted at the sound and pulled himself to sit up slowly, shifting more comfortably before he looked up at him, his expression unchanged.

“I don't...it’s late. Are they spendin’ the night there?” He asked, his face pulled down under the weight of incredulous pain. Perhaps he was more drugged than he thought. He looked over at the ticking clock on the wall, then to the firewood baking soundly in the hearth. Everything felt…tangible and legitimate despite the crawling doubt of his reality. “Adam?”   
  
Adam merely nodded, staying quiet for a moment. “My kids didn't need to see you detoxing. Again. And you are going to detox this time, Blake. Because if you don't, I’m taking my family and Gwen and we are leaving. I don't care if you choke on your vomit after. I don't care if you swallow a bullet or shoot yourself up with god knows what. I am tired of picking up after you.  _ I’m  _ the little brother.  _ I’m  _ the one you should be taking care of.” 

Adam scrubbed a hand over his face as he paused, letting Blake absorb what he was saying as he collected his thoughts.   
  
“Have fun, be safe, call if you need anything. Except this isn't fun for you or me. And you never try to be safe. Not when you went to war, and not when you came back home. I can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve willingly called me on your own, unprompted and not pressured. Maybe you’ve been facing death for a long time now and I'm helping you cheat it. Maybe, this is how you end and frankly, I'm so done trying to help you avoid it. You clearly don't want to live.” 

Blake hands had slowly began to shake as he listened to Adam. He stared at his little brother as though he’d never seen him before; perhaps he hadn’t. 

_How do you live when you've seen what I've seen?_   
  
His head throbbed and a dizzying wave of nausea washed over him, but he took a long slow breath to master it.

The front door creaked open and he hears the small voice of his niece, the happily babbling and laughter from his nephew, the quiet but lovely footsteps of his lover and then the light, nurturing voice of his sister-in-law. The next terrible string of thoughts directed his attention fully to her as they walked into the war zone of his living room. 

Beautiful, sweet Behati. Behati, who had held his hand and given him a shoulder to cry on at his mother’s funeral, who’d walked him to her grave, had put him up in the guest room when living by himself had become too much to bear. Behati who cleaned him up in the mornings after Blake had drank himself past the fucking pain of it, when the bottle was all that would get the dead children and the dead soldiers he now called friends--brothers, out of his ear. Behati, who had, the night before Adam went out with the kids to cut a Christmas tree, talked the barrel of his .45 away from his temple. Does she want him dead too? Has she given up on him just like her husband? Was she tired of his tortured existence? If so, she’d been lying to him this entire time. They both have, but he can beat his brother to a bloody pulp if he felt the urge. He wouldn't dare lay a sober or high hand on her. No matter if she was lying or not, the dismissal cut deep enough, deeper than any of the men in that fucking cave eight years ago.

“Get out,” he whispered, seething. “Behati. Get. Out.” He clipped, struggling not to lose his composure and say something he would regret, willing Behati and Gwen and the children to leave he and Adam to have this out.   
  
“Blake,” Gwen began, walking towards him slowly and reaching out. Blake flinched hard away and shouted, “OUT!”   
  
“Blake! You’re still coming down, relax and take a seat.” 

Blake raised a shaking hand up to silence him, furious, betrayed. “You knew. All this time you knew I wouldn’t get any better. No one ever does. And now what? You want to leave? Go! I don't need you with your perfect wife and perfect kids and perfect life in California.” He tipped his head to the side as he watched Adam incredulously, furious and wounded. “I don't need anyone.” His hearing went high pitched and tiny as his face blanched. He pressed his palm to his face as his head swam, brilliant shocks of sparking pain lighting up in random places. 

“You need everyone but you’re too damn stubborn to realize that. I won't apologize for what I have. I  _ earned  _ everything, nothing was given to me.”

“You didn't earn a damn thing Adam. You fought for it doesn't mean you earned it. Fighting can be fair or it can be absolute shit. You fought selfishly. Constantly, because no one ever told you they loved you enough as a child, if at all. You can harbor resentment for me as much as you like, Adam, but the blame falls to our mom and you know it. It's not my fault she messed around and had you. It's not my fault no one wanted you. But don't act like you’ve earned the life you have when all you ever did since the moment you could think for yourself is chase after what you didn't have. You call me selfish, I call you a coward.” 

“It's not cowardly to want the things you never had.” He said evenly.

“But it is cowardly to never admit to your wife that you screwed around on her in the beginning of your marriage.”

The room fell to silence. Adam stared at him with wide eyes but a heated gaze. Blake continued, not chancing a look at the women or children in the room. “Like mother like son I guess.” Blake laughed ruefully. “I'm so sick and tired of you throwing your life in my face like you have it all together. You don't. I don’t but at least I have the balls to admit it. And you didn't have to clean up after me despite what you think. I never asked you to. All you had to do was keep clean syringes in the cabinet and money on the counter.”

Adam let the silence hang for a minute before taking a deep, steadying breath, and lunging for Blake. He threw a punch at Blake’s face with a left, effectively jabbing the hard bone. He stumbled back, and wiped at his mouth. His lip split prettily and started to bleed. Adam rushed forward again with another punch. It might have been years since he fought anybody but muscle memory came back to him like a boomerang and Blake feinted out of the way this time, kicked Adam’s shin, slammed an elbow down in the juncture of neck and shoulder, and brought Adam to his knees. 

“Are you stupid,” Blake hissed, and turned his head long enough to spit a mouthful of blood onto the floor.

Adam growled and sprang back to his feet, charged at Blake, caught him with one forearm across his chest and shoved him back against the kitchen counter. The edge dug into the rough skin of his back and his head flew backward at the intensity of the push. Adam held him there while Blake struggled to regain his footing. With his free hand, Adam wrapped his fingers around his throat and  _ squeezed. _

“Adam, STOP!”

Behati’s voice distracted the younger man and Blake snarled, using Adam’s temporary falter and distraction to punch the side of Adam’s face. He worked himself free from his brother’s grip and slid around and behind him. He stamped one foot firmly against the back of Adam’s knee, then slammed his elbow straight down against Adam’s newly exposed shoulder. He crumpled to his knees again, and Blake grabbed a fistful of his hair, tugging his head back until he was looking straight up into Blake’s face. Adam’s eyes were furious and hateful and Blake stared straight into them as he dragged his tongue quickly across his bleeding lip.

“Blake...Blake please just let him go.” Behati’s voice rang out again. Adam struggled against his grip but Blake held him fast, stepping around in front of him.

“I'm high. Why would you hit me when I'm high you know what I can do.” Blake said desperately, realizing his actions, his words in a span of a minute.

“I don't know. It's why I come up here all the fucking time. I never know what you’re going to do next.” Adam breathed deeply through his nose, wincing when he realizes that Blake might have broken it. “I cannot force you to do this, Blake, but you need help. I know you better than anyone. I know why you keep going down like this. You need to get clean and then you need to  _ heal _ . You never have. You need to heal your mind and body with something other than the drugs and then you need to find yourself again.” He paused and gentled his voice, letting a touch of his desperation lace through his otherwise even tone. “Blake, the doctor was  _ wrong.  _ You have to save  _ yourself _ .”

Blake swiped the back of his hand across his bleeding lip, dragging a red-black trail from the corner of his mouth across his cheek and down onto the blade-edge of his jaw. He let go of Adam’s hair and watched as the younger man rose, unsteady on his feet.

His eyes cut away to Gwen, as he clenched and relaxed his hands, shifting his legs, rolling his shoulder, taking stock of himself. He saw fear, anxiety,  _ respect _ , of all things. His voice was low and rasping when he spoke, now it seemed like years of being made to scream and no proper air to do so, having destroyed his vocal chords, was finally catching up to him.

“I’m so far gone Adam. What makes you think that's gonna work?”

“Because even though you’re shit at being a brother, you’re not a shit soldier. You win at every fight, every battle you’ve ever been apart of, except this one. And it's because you don't think you’re battling an addiction. If you saw it as a fight you’d finally realize that you’re  _ losing.” _

It clicked for him but it didn’t resonate.

“What if I forgot how to fight.” He added, turning his attention back to the room, to the scorned women, to the confused children. 

“You just put me on my ass. I think you remember.”

“I can't fight this with my hands and feet.”

“No. But your heart is the only place that isn't fucked up. I would start there.”

Blake is vaguely aware that he shouldn’t have to start at all at this age. Not with love, or sobriety, or happiness. He didn't want any of it. He didn't want a relationship. He didn't want the constrictions, the ties, the expectations. Certainly, not the latter. A relationship, a sober Blake, a  _ happy  _ Blake, meant that Gwen would start making demands about the drugs, the sex, his time, his future. And within reason, perhaps. But Gwen was meant to come after, when everything was sorted, when Blake was ready and healthy. Gwen was meant to wait.

_  
He should have died in his late twenties. _


	10. Don't end up like me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the beautiful song Remember Who I Was, by James Arthur, as are the lyrics to start the chapter. I recommend giving it a listen as this song was most of my inspiration for writing this chapter.

_I'm just waking up now, in the tears of the ones I love._

 

Blake dropped to one knee, crouched defensively beside the bed, gun braced on the mattress and aimed directly at the door before he was fully awake. His trigger finger trembled, caught by the conflicting urge to identify his target first or just shoot blindly, and for painfully long seconds, he had no idea where he was. The darkness and fire and smell of smoke disoriented him more than his sudden awakening did.

“It’s me.”

Silky soprano, full of false lifts and a recognizable vibrato. Blake exhaled and dropped his face to the bed as his fingers relaxed, letting the gun rest safely on the blankets. “Fuck,” he muttered, trembling with the sudden jolt of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He didn’t think he could stand, so he sat down on the floor, resting his left arm on the bed. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“You didn’t shoot,” Gwen said, as if the end result was all that mattered. Blake heard her cross the room and felt the other side of the mattress dip under her weight. Fabric rustled loudly--his blanket, the one that Gwen had been using. Air moved in a soft breeze against his arm and face as Gwen settled underneath the covers.

“Right. You probably want the bed back now.” It wasn't a question. After the physical altercation with Adam, Blake mumbled several apologies to no one in particular, and exited the room swiftly. He spent the remainder of the night in his room still coming off of a drug that's been in his system longer than any relationship he's ever had. No one bothered him until now.

Blake leaned on the mattress for balance as he stood.

“Stay.”

“No.” Blake picked up his gun, hands still shaking.

“Blake, stay.”

“Which part of ‘no’ did you not understand?”

“So it's okay for you to say no when you feel like it but when we do about the drugs, it's a problem.”

Blake gritted his teeth. “I don’t sleep near other people.”

“Stay,” Gwen repeated again. This time, she added, “Please.”

Blake stepped away from the bed; the cool bedroom air had him starting to shiver already. “You don't want me near you when I'm coming off of a high.”

Gwen huffed in amusement. “I had to identify my husband’s body after it had been flung from his car and splattered across the street.”

Blake shoved the gun into the back of his jeans, pinning it temporarily in his waistband.

“So?” He asked, folding his arms as if he could trap his body heat.

“You don't scare me.”

Blake went cold, and he sat down, landing on the edge of the bed by sheer luck. His arms tensed, pressing against his body, fists clenched against his ribs.

“His face was the only thing recognizable about his body after the accident, barely but I could tell. There was a birthmark on his left thigh and I couldn't stop myself from wondering if his mistress would have seen. If she could have identified him and picked him out with that alone. The mark was tiny. You would have missed it if you weren't looking close enough...She came to the funeral.”

“What?” Blake twisted around to stare at Gwen in the darkness. The motion tightened the waistband of his jeans, forcing the gun to dig uncomfortably against his spine.

Propping herself up on one elbow to face him, Gwen shrugged. “The affair was three years long.”

“So just because he screwed some woman for three years on the side, it’s okay for her to come to the funeral?”

“No. That doesn't make it okay. But Gavin gave some part of himself to her and that part died with him that day. I can understand that.”

Blake couldn’t help but laugh. It was terrible, because Gwen was talking about having sympathy and empathy for a woman who fucked her marriage and she still remained an insanely devoted wife, a generous  _ person _ , but once the laughter started, he couldn’t stop. “You can't even hate people properly.” He managed to get out. When he eventually stopped laughing, he looked at her and saw no trace of amusement.

“Tell me,” Gwen continued, reaching out to touch Blake’s hip, “Why should I let you go back to the couch?”

“What does that have to do--”

Gwen shifted closer, sliding her hand down to curve over his thigh. “I gave you a part of me. Whether you understand that or not. I want you to be close. I want you to keep yourself safe because I can never get that part back if you leave me. It doesn't matter if it's today or tomorrow or in a year. I need you to be here. I need you stay.”

“It’s not...” Blake hesitated, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple, Gwen. Look at me. You saw how I woke up. You saw what I did to Adam. It’s not just dangerous. It’s not--”

“Don’t say normal,” Gwen warned him quietly. She sat up so she could move closer, pushing the blankets out of the way. “If I wanted normal, I wouldn’t have kissed you.”

Blake closed his eyes and raked a hand through his hair. He felt so cold, so distant from his body.

_ Is there nothing warm in the world? _

Logically, he knew he should get up and leave the room, even if it meant shivering through most of the night by himself, but logic had nothing to do with the emptiness inside him. He’d never meant to end up alone.

Gwen moved even closer, drawing her hand up from Blake’s thigh to his chest. Blake flinched but didn’t move away as Gwen pressed her palm over his sternum, fingertips resting on his throat, above the collar of his shirt, below the burnt flesh. “You don’t have to talk about your scars.”

“Fuck,” Blake gasped, flinching violently this time. “Gwen--”

“It’s okay.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Then believe me when I do,” Gwen interrupted. She closed the distance between them again and touched Blake’s face as if to hold him still. “I think they’re beautiful.” Blake closed his eyes tightly. “I think  _ you _ are beautiful. You still don’t understand. I’ve seen you.”

“Gwen--”

“And I’m still here.”

Blake closed his mouth, turning away from her, though the motion pressed his face against Gwen’s palm. Her hand was warm and steady, holding him without trapping him.

“Some people would call you crazy,” Blake managed to say, his voice distant and faint.

“And?”

He laughed and nodded tightly. He pulled the gun out of his waistband and put it on the nightstand, finally feeling the cold. Shivering, he pushed back into Gwen, saying, “Back up. You’re hogging the bed.”

“We’ll be warmer if we share the blanket,” Gwen suggested.

Blake hesitated. “I don’t...”

In answer, Gwen moved back, mattress shifting as she settled down on the far side of the bed.

“Tomorrow night, then.”

“I wouldn't bet on it.”

“Shhh, go to sleep. You’re terrible company if you don’t get at least four hours.”

“I’m terrible regardless.” Blake muttered, pulling one of the blankets up and curled up at the very edge of the bed as he stared into the darkness, wondering if he’d be able to fall asleep listening to the sound of someone else’s slow breathing.

* * *

Blake didn’t scream or thrash or even speak. Instead, he went quiet and tense, body moving in minute twitches. Blake moved in his sleep, sprawling out over the bed one limb at a time, until he seemed to achieve an impossible state by all laws of physics and anatomy, occupying far more of the mattress that a man of his stature should be allowed. 

Gwen had awakened each time a hand or foot had invaded her side of the bed, determined that Blake was restfully sleeping, and retreated until she was at the very edge of the king-sized mattress. But he kept twitching, kept invading her space, so she moved off the bed quietly but naturally and picked up her phone from the bedside table as she stepped back.

She directed the glow of the startup screen over Blake. The blankets covered him from the neck down, magnifying every little twitch of his hands and feet into wavelike motions of fabric. Behind his closed lids, his eyes were moving rapidly, and his jaw was clenched. His pulse and respiration were accelerated.

Nightmare.

Shivering in the cold, she moved to the foot of the bed and held her phone in one hand, pointed upwards to illuminate herself and the room as best as she could.

“Blake,” she said, her voice calm and pitched lower but firm. She waited a few seconds before repeating Blake’s name two more times.

He didn't answer. Cautiously, Gwen said, “Blake, wake up,” as she reached down to touch the top of Blake’s foot.

Immediately, his body coiled in on itself before he twisted and sat up. The blanket went flying as he reached out with both arms, a quick motion to assess his surroundings that was distinct from the way he reached unerringly for the weapon on the right side of the bed.

His hand never made it that far. He stopped before his fingers even crossed the edge of the mattress and stared at her, panting to catch his breath.

“Gwen?” He asked, his voice soft and very tight, almost a whisper.

In answer, Gwen turned off her phone and walked to her side of the bed again. “Go back to sleep,” she said and crawled up the bed, tossing the IPhone on the table.

“What--” Blake began, still sitting up. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Go back to sleep. Tomorrow is Christmas.” She tried to divert any lingering trace of his nightmare.

Blake didn’t immediately answer. He moved gracefully back down the bed and thrashed under his blankets to get himself sorted. Only when he was lying down, blankets pulled up over his body, did he roll onto his left side to face her. “I beat my brother in front of his kids on Christmas Eve.”

Gwen bit back her response: Obviously.

“I had a nightmare,” he said abruptly as well.

After a few silent seconds ticked by, Blake asked, “Did I hurt you?” 

“No.”

Blake exhale was shaky. “I’m sorry.”

Gwen moved a bit closer, shifting her pillow. “What was it about?”

She couldn’t see his grimace, but she could hear it in his tone of voice, “I dreamt about trying to push your insides back into your stomach with dirty hands. My own fingers chasing new ruptures across the skin of your chest. I dreamt about your sharp ribs tearing skin and breaking like sugar sticks...I was at war and you were a casualty.” 

Gwen took the hitch in his voice as an unspoken invitation to move closer. “No one’s been that devoted to saving me in a dream before,” she said, unable to hide the distaste in her voice.

“Christ. Don’t,” Blake said, sounding equally repulsed. “Don’t be nice to me. If you want me to stay, there are far better things we can do than talk. Or I can just go out into the living room and let you sleep.”

“If I sleep then that means you won't,” Gwen said, trailing her fingers along the underside of his forearm, though he was now wearing a long sleeve shirt and his jeans. He shivered and made a pleased little sound. Encouraged, Gwen kept talking, “I’m not bleeding out or stuck in a ditch somewhere. You’re welcome to feel for yourself just to make sure.”

“Gwen--” His breath came out shallow and wispy.

“But you’re wearing too much for anything but talk, at the moment.”

Blake laughed. “Let me build up the fire again and go to the bathroom.” He got out of bed and went for the stack of wood in the corner.

Gwen sighed but nodded. “How are you feeling?”

Blake went quiet before he said, “Headache, skin is crawling, my eyes burn...”

Startled by the sudden change in Blake’s tone, Gwen interrupted, “Blake. I only ask because...I want to know.”

He turned around. “Know what?”

“I want to know what hurts you and what makes the pain go away.”

Blake said nothing as he turned back around and worked on building up the fire. Slowly, light filled that corner of the room, throwing long lashes of shadows everywhere. Blake rose, surrounded by an aura of red-gold light that brought out bright ginger highlights in his hair. His back was turned, arms raised to rest against the mantel, hands gripping tightly.

“Drugs don’t hurt me Gwen. I've been doing this for years. They don't hurt me.” He said, turning enough for Gwen to see his profile. “People do.”

He crossed to the bedroom door without giving her a chance to respond. The bathroom door shut firmly, and Gwen cowered back onto the bed, desperately trying to drown herself beneath the pillows and blankets.

* * *

Standing in the bathroom, Blake splashed water on his face and tried to push away the surreal feeling that had crept over him. His nightmares were nothing new. Fragments of imagery clung to him day and night, and he never went twenty-four hours without waking in a cold sweat at least once. When Gwen had stubbornly decided to share the bed for sleep, Blake had expected this. Feared it. And now that it had happened...he wasn't entirely sure.

Blake wonders how much horror you can file away in your life before it deteriorates your mind. How accurately can you notice that the nightmares in your life have made you something completely different from who you were? Blake knows he's different now, of course he does. He wasn't always like this, didn't always do drugs. He knows he’s gained experience and knowledge but at what cost? Is his insanity still intact? Is his heart still his own? He knows that he's lost something during the time he spent overseas. He just doesn't know what or how to get it back. 

And Gwen..Gwen had safely pulled him out of the nightmare--had awakened him from the other side of the room, intentionally visible and recognizable in the light of her cell phone. She asked curiously like any sane person would and he told her. She didn't like the response, that much was clear, but she still tried to be nice with her words. She tried, for his sake. Though she had to know it wasn’t normal for a grown man to avoid other people the way Blake did.

This could work, whispered the little voice in the back of his mind that had been silent for several years. Hope felt alien to him, but in a good way. He didn’t try to hide from it. Instead, he allowed himself to acknowledge that Gwen might be just as fucked up as he was, in his own way, and that might be just what Blake...if not needed then at least certainly wanted.

_No. Stop. You'll only hurt yourself._

He took a wet cloth and cleaned his gritty skin off. He put back on his jeans and a old grey button up over his undershirt.

He went back into the bedroom and found Gwen under both blankets, both pillows stacked under her head. Her bare arms were visible, hands tucked behind her head, laying lazily and casually atop her hair. He saw her clothes were draped over the side of the bed. She was naked underneath his blankets and he felt himself stir in his pants.

“Kids wake up early on Christmas. You should try and get some sleep.”

Gwen reached one delicate arm over to the bedside table drawer to produce a condom. The package crinkled in her thin fingers and Blake watched with hooded eyes as she brought it back to her mouth, gliding the foil across wet lips.

“I’m gonna sleep in the living room.” Blake said even as he started to unbutton his shirt.

Gwen’s eyes dropped to watch his fingers, and her lips curled up in a sly, satisfied smile, the condom still blocking most of his view. “Are you?”

Blake’s heart pounded at the look of obvious desire on Gwen’s face, even as he had to turn away. He hadn’t been self-conscious about getting undressed in front of someone for years. He shivered as cold air slithered over his bare arms and told himself he was wearing the white undershirt for warmth, not to hide. Sometimes, he could almost believe his own bullshit, though tonight wasn’t one of those times. “Someone has to put the presents out.”

“You do laugh like Santa,” Gwen confirmed.

Blake grinned as another layer of tension melted away. He rid himself of his jeans as quickly as he could, stripped off his socks, and got under the blankets, pushing them up so he could roll on top of Gwen. Moving slowly, she slid her hands away from her head and reached up to touch Blake’s face. She combed her fingers back through his long curls, tugging lightly. “Don’t cut your hair,” she said thoughtfully.

“It falls into my eyes now,” Blake said, trying to sound unaffected, but the gently rough touch stole his breath. “I have to.” The beginnings of panic slithered down his spine, but he pushed up onto all fours, and the freedom of movement helped keep the anxiety at bay. Trying to seem like the movement had been casual, he laid back down, chest against Gwen’s, and waited for their shared body warmth to steal through his T-shirt.

Gwen pulled Blake up for a kiss, slow and undemanding. Her hands never moved down to his back or hips or shirt but stayed tangled in his hair, and Blake let the kiss relax him into the possessive touch. When he moved to trace the line of her jaw, he muttered, “I probably ruined my brother’s marriage.”

“The both of them are stronger than you think.”

Blake nipped softly at the skin before continuing a lazy path up towards Gwen’s ear. “Behati would never leave him. She cares about the kids too much. But they’ll never be the same.”

“Marriages end up like that sometimes.”

Blake gave her another nip, this time on her earlobe, and in response, Gwen’s fingers twisted. Heat spiked down from Blake’s scalp, making his skin tingle. He shifted to get one leg between Gwen’s, regretting the thin fabric of his boxers that separated his cock from her hip.

“Did he really cheat?” Gwen asked quietly as he shifted his weight to free his left hand and clawed at the waistband of his boxers.

“He was an arrogant prick back then.” He said. Gwen made no effort to help him with the garment. Instead, she took advantage of the distraction to bite more sharply at his throat, and the tingling in Blake’s body turned to fire. He kicked his boxers away under the blankets and settled down against Gwen’s body, cursing quietly as his cock brushed against Gwen’s hot center.

She let out a soft gasp of her own. Her hands relaxed, releasing his hair, and she shifted herself down and reached not for his arms or back but for his legs. “Move up,” she instructed, long nails scratching at his thighs. Momentarily confused, Blake rose up on all fours, spreading his legs when Gwen pushed at his knees to spread them wider. Then she moved down, still lying on her back, and Blake forgot how to breathe as he realized what Gwen was planning to do.

“Gwen, don’t--oh,  _ fuck _ ,” he gasped, feeling Gwen’s tongue sweep over his balls from one side to the other. One hand slid over the back of his left thigh, holding him in place as Gwen licked again.

“Stay still,” she said, her voice gravelly and quiet. Her hand slipped further up, fingers curving around his ass. The tips brushed lightly over sensitive skin, making him shiver.

He bit his lip to keep from cursing. The blanket’s weight draped over his back was almost too much, but it was soft and familiar. He took deep breaths, cold air from the room mixed with the slight warmth trapped by his body. His fingers dug into the sheets, and he pushed the pillow away. Breathing a bit more easily, he braced himself on his right hand and reached down with his left, searching for Gwen in the darkness under the blanket.

“Gwen,” Blake warned sharply.

“Stay still.” Came her reply.

He hesitated, suddenly very much aware of his body, positioned exactly how Gwen wanted him, though he wasn’t held or pinned down in any way. It was different and tense, but not quite enough to push him over the edge. He took a deep breath and forced himself to think about obeying, he was a soldier, he always obeyed direct orders.

Finally, he decided he could do this. He wanted to do this, or at least try to. Slowly, he pulled his hand back and dug his fingers into the sheet, balancing his weight on all fours again. Gwen didn’t say anything, as she went back to her meticulous examination of his body. Her hand slipped forward to cup his balls, fingers gentle but firm. The mattress dipped as Gwen moved again, and her next lick was a slow stripe up Blake’s cock.

His thought of protesting the lack of a condom died out before he could even try to remember how to speak. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done anything like this, and by the time Gwen pushed up off the mattress enough to take Blake’s cock in her mouth, Blake gave up even trying to think.

* * *

  
With every touch, it was like Gwen could track Blake’s thoughts. His thighs tensed in preparation of moving forward, out from under the blanket and away from the bed. His gut went tight as he fought to breathe steadily. Between the mattress and Gwen’s best efforts, he was having difficulty staying balanced on all fours. It wasn’t an ideal position--his hands still probably pained him from the brawl earlier, especially after the coldness throughout the house and his scars probably ached even more from the heightened tension in his body. But short of standing up in the middle of the room, this was the best way to keep Blake warm, give her access to his body, and leave him free to escape if he felt the need.

It was hard on her to even think about the possibility of Blake wanting to leave her now for any reason. She wanted nothing more than to throw Blake down on his back and pin him to the mattress, leaving his body open for Gwen to take whatever she wanted, whatever  _ he  _ needed, but not yet. Perhaps not ever, though Gwen would work diligently and tirelessly to help him overcome his fears. The thought of watching Blake struggle to endure not pain but pleasure, was intoxicating. It was so hard to see him turn away from her when he went to strip his button up. All she wanted to do was reassure him that he  _ was  _ beautiful. She started now, using one hand to keep Blake’s hips steady while she slowly took his length into her mouth. The angle didn’t allow her to take him too deep, but Gwen made up for the lack with her tongue, reading Blake’s breath and body to decipher what he liked and what he wanted and what was too much.

It was almost unfair, really. She was so used to communicating with her husband what he wanted that now she almost felt at a lost. Blake didn't communicate like other people, and certainty not about this. Language, to him, was a mess. Nothing like sex. He communicates with touch better than words but he was afraid to feel. There was no easy solution.

When Blake was gasping for breath, hips twitching with his need for more, Gwen backed off, smiling when he cursed aloud. “Don’t move,” she reminded him and pushed further down the bed. She twisted up onto her knees, carefully staying between Blake’s legs.

“Blake?”

He had to take two deep breaths before he could steadily respond, “Yeah?”

“I want you to trust me. Do you? Do you trust me?” Gwen asked, hating the way the blanket muffled her voice.

“Yes I fucking trust you,” he said with a ragged laugh. She brushed her hand up the back of Blake’s thigh. Shivering, Blake continued, “Not since--I haven't allowed anyone to do that…”

Gwen smiled and leaned in to press her lips to Blake’s ass, feeling soft skin over muscles that went tense with surprise. It took almost ten seconds for him to relax again, and he tensed again when Gwen flicked the tip of her tongue over warm skin. She stroked a hand down Blake’s thigh to calm him before she moved in, following the curve of Blake’s body.

Blake’s back arched as he inhaled sharply.

“Gwen--”

“Trust me,” she interrupted, using her fingers to roll up the white T-shirt along his back, speaking the words into the skin along his spine. She drew her hand down again, stroking her thumb lightly over the dimples in his lower back, drawing another gasp of surprise. When Blake didn’t pull away, Gwen repeated the motion, pressing more firmly.

After a moment, he allowed himself to relax. His back arched down and he shifted to spread his legs a bit more, just enough to show his acceptance of the touch. She eased the pressure of her thumb and moved the digit back down to his balls, swiping lightly, teasingly, before she gently pushed her head down just enough that she could trace her thumb’s path with her tongue. Blake’s hips bucked forward in surprise, and Gwen squashed the instinctive desire to grab a hold of his hips and keep him in place. Instead, she followed his body and licked again more slowly, pressing the tip of her tongue against the underside of his cock, along the thick vein that ran throughout, for a moment before she drew back.

Blake’s breathing was deep and rough, his head hanging down between his arms. Gwen touched Blake’s hip to get his attention, and pushed the shirt further up until it bunched around his neck. “Fold your arms.”

Blake complied at once, not even hesitating to consider how the change in position would affect his ability to move away. His hips were forced up, leaving him open to her attentions, allowing Gwen to lick a long, slow stripe from the soft skin behind his balls all the way up to the base of his spine, making Blake gasp and tense up, though his body didn’t pull away.

She did it again.

As soon as Blake’s trembling legs folded, and he collapsed on the bed, leaving himself vulnerable and bare, Gwen knew she had his absolute trust.

After indulging in one last lick, she moved away and fought out from under the blankets. Blake seemed barely able to lift his head, too lost in his own mind to even form words. Gwen rolled over onto her back beside him and made a point of arranging the pillows comfortably under her head. She looked over the wide expanse of skin on Blake’s back. There were a few white blotches along the sides and a couple of cuts towards the middle. But what grabbed her attention was the bullet wound on his left shoulder.

“Can you tell me how you were shot?”

“No.” He mumbled softly into his arm, but turned his head nonetheless to finally look at her.

“Can you feel it when you move.”

“No. Only when it's really cold.”  _ He chose to live in one of the coldest places on earth just to feel pain everyday. _ “It used to bother me. Now...I just see it as raised skin and dead nerves.”

Gwen puts her hand cautiously on the wound and Blake only registers her touch because she's pressing insistently against the center of the scar. Blake hisses at the pain and Gwen looks sharply back at him.

“Please don't touch them.” He asked quietly.

She nods and takes her hand away.

“Roll over,” she insists.

Blake pulls down his shirt before he does. She half laid against him and kissed without hesitation, allowing Blake to guide her this time, with gentle pushes on her leg to straddle his hips. Still kissing her, Blake fumbled for the lubricant on the bedside table, curling his fingers and pouring a generous amount, coating them liberally. Gwen was relaxed with his tongue in her mouth and his body solid underneath hers.

“Lift up,” Blake told her, and slipped his hand between their bodies, brushing deliberately over her clit. She moaned into Blake’s mouth and held still as Blake’s slicked fingers brushed over her entrance.

One finger slipped in easily, but there was no need to rush. Her pelvis was heavy against his wrist, and the back of his hand pressed against his own cock enough to take the edge off his growing need. He reached down further and pressed a second finger inside, and Gwen’s only reaction was a sharp, needy exhale.

Blake bit Gwen's lip and then swiped his tongue across as he pushed his fingers deeper. She was ready for a third but Blake pulled out instead and curled his fingers into the messy, dripping pool of warm lubricant in his palm before running the tips teasingly over her entrance.

“Blake,” she complained, nearly begging.

She stopped herself from begging even more, or from pushing down into Blake’s body when he repeated the teasing stroke. She lifted her hand to touch Blake’s lips, meeting his eyes. “Tell me what you want.”

Blake’s hesitation lasted a moment too long. “More,” he said, evasively dropping his gaze. He tried to prevent further questions with a kiss. Gwen moved her hand from Blake’s mouth to his hair, pulling sharply enough to break the kiss. Blake gasped, lips parted, and his eyes fell closed.

“Tell me what you want.” She kept a hold of Blake’s hair until he opened his eyes, a look of determination now laced in the whites of them.

“I want to be inside you, Gwen. Right now...a minute ago...forever. Because you look like a warm place to settle down in, a beautiful place to get lost in.” He pushed two fingers back into her body, fast enough to hint at roughness and pain without actually crossing that threshold.

Gwen cursed and bucked her hips down, body pressing hard against Blake’s hand. She pulled his hair once again, so she could kiss him, brutally hard and demanding.

The kiss broke enough for him to insist, “Now tell me what you want.”

Gwen took a single breath. “You. Inside me.”

Staring up at her, Blake hid a smile. He drew his fingers out enough to make her hiss with pleasure, then pushed slowly back into her, curling his fingers to brush against nerves and muscles that made Gwen gasp. Then, deliberately, he stilled his hand and said, “I am inside you.”

“Blake.” It was almost a plea.

In response, he pulled his hand back, pressing his wrist up against Gwen’s clit as he moved. “Be specific, Gwen,” he whispered remorselessly, this time pressing three fingers into her, just enough to stretch the muscle.

The sound she made in response was closer to a whimper than a moan. “Fuck,” she whispered.

“Not specific enough,” Blake teased, flexing his wrist to move his fingers deeper, just up to the second knuckle. Gwen’s body was tight and hot but nearly ready.

“Fuck me,” Gwen snapped, fingers digging into the sheets on either side of his head.

Blake pushed his fingers a bit deeper. “Get that condom. Put it on me.”

Gwen sighed in relief and twisted to the side, lifting her hips. Blake caught her though, and distracted her by twisting his fingers. “Without moving away,” he ordered. “I’m not finished.” To punctuate his words, he pressed his digits even deeper.

Gwen dropped the condom she’d got out earlier, fumbled it off the bed, and moved back over Blake’s body. She braced up on her left hand and used her teeth to rip open the condom packet. She smoothed it over his cock, as Blake’s fingers twisted and slide in and out of her body. By the time the condom was in place, Gwen was trembling. Without being told, she found where Blake had dropped the bottle of lube, then dropped it herself when Blake distracted her with another well-timed thrust of his fingers. Concentrating fiercely, Gwen managed to cover his cock with lubricant, giving him teasing strokes of her fist that stole Blake’s breath.

Once she finished, Gwen hesitated before she shifted to the side, prepared to move off Blake’s body. She didn’t want to make him feel trapped in any way.

“No,” Blake quickly said, sliding his fingers out. “Like this. I want to watch you.”

Gwen went still and looked down. “Are you sure? I don't mind--”

“I want--fuck--”

She reached for Blake’s cock then. “What do you want?”

Blake caught her hip, “Slow. I want to feel you.”

Thighs trembling, Gwen exhaled in brusque frustration and leaned back down, hands braced for balance. She let Blake’s hands guide her hips down until his cock was deep inside her, leaving them both panting and breathless.

He allowed her to tentatively take control, subtly guiding her with one hand as she experimented with angle and speed. She wished there was light in the bedroom so she could see Blake in proper light, wished his shirt was off so she could feel proper skin.

Gwen established a comfortable rhythm, just fast enough to burn through Blake’s self-control like slow-acting acid. Blake moved his hand, still slick with lubricant, to Gwen’s folds. Circling his fingers lightly around, swiping his thumb across the glan, Gwen’s breathing changed.

Blake pushed his heels against the mattress, and tensed his abdomen as he pushed up, changing the angle just slightly. Gwen gasped, and Blake closed his fingers more tightly over her lips and worked her in rhythm with his body.

She couldn't hold herself up anymore and collapsed against his chest. Blake’s arms circled around her instantly, pressing his whole body against Gwen’s as he continued to move inside her. She was worried about smothering him, trapping him but he just kept holding on tightly. He bowed his head against Gwen’s temple so that his words were a mere breath in her ear. “All your secrets, Gwen. I want you to give them to me. I want the secrets your secrets haven't even found.”

Gwen’s rhythm faltered not a second later. She ground down hard on Blake’s cock, muscles clenching tight, and Blake thrust into her as best he could, coaxing her to orgasm. When it hit, she held her breath and closed her eyes, sinking into the sensation of Blake’s whole body as she trembled and shook around his cock, and that was all it took to push his body over the edge.

* * *

Blake came awake slowly and lazily to a dull radar sound that was his phone alarm. He opened his eyes and blinked at Gwen, who lay beside him, watching him. Their pillows touched, but their bodies didn’t, separated by a barrier of blankets.

“I have to put out the presents,” Blake said quietly. The window glowed with darkness diffused through a blizzard of snow, casting new shadows over Gwen’s face. 

“Aren't Adam and Behati doing that?” She whispered.

“Adam texted me just after you fell asleep...Behati isn't talking to him. He asked me and since I created this mess I figured I’d do what I can to make it better.” He took a deep breath and rolled onto his back. He lifted his arms and folded his hands under his head. The cold bedroom air raised the hair on his forearms.

“What time is it?”

“Ten past four.”

“Do you want me to help you?” She asked softly.

He shook his head, the motion barely visible.

“Are you okay?”

Blake clenched his fingers in his hair to keep from reaching for Gwen. “Do you mean, am I itchin’ to shoot up again?”

“Blake.”

“I came here to get away from people.”

The silence engulfed them.

“I wanted to be alone but somehow I ended up lonely. And it’s not that last night was...bad,” Blake continued uncertainly. His brief laugh was soft and nervous. “Anything but that. But I don’t...I can’t do this, Gwen.” He turned his head to look sadly at her. “I don't know  _ how  _ to do this. Trust me when I say you don’t even want me to try.”

“Trust has nothing to do with it. I trust you, you trust me.” Gwen moved closer and watched his arms tense, though he didn’t try to move away. “If I say I trust you I might as well be saying I love you. They’re both blanket statements and we can do so much better.  _ We  _ are so much better. I trust you to safely fly that deathtrap of yours, but I don’t trust that you’ll get us safely back on land every time. It’s out of your control.”

Blake’s expression had slowly shifted from sad to puzzled. A hint of irritation creased his brow. “Do you ever actually listen to yourself speak?” He rolled onto his side, propping up on his right arm. “I’m saying you shouldn’t be involved with me, Gwen. I’m not what you want, and definitely not what you could possibly need. I want you, Gwen. And I wish I could keep you but I just can’t.”

“How many others have gotten this close to you since you--since you left the military?”

Evasively, Blake looked away. “None. I tried, I did--I just...I liked drugs more.”

“Do you want me more than you want to shoot up? Do you want my secrets in exchange for your drugs?”

“Gwen, please.”

“Did you enjoy last night?”

Blake met her eyes for an instant, color rising in his cheeks. “Of course.”

“You can have that everyday. I can make you happy, just give up the drugs.”

Blake shook his head, “Stop.”

Gwen huffed and caught hold of Blake’s right arm and pulled, rolling onto her back. Surprised and wary of hurting her, Blake didn’t struggle, though he snapped, “Gwen!”

Only when he was on top of her, blankets tangled around their legs, did Gwen let go. She looked up at Blake, saying, “I know how to make this safe. I know what ticks you off and what makes you pliant. Stop worrying about things that I’ve already fixed.”

“I'm not a fuckin' puzzle!”

“I won't allow you to feel trapped, inside yourself, inside this house, in the world.” She continued on. “I know you won’t be held down. If you feel trapped, your instinct is to fight free--”

Blake went pale. “Christ,” he muttered as he pushed up on all fours, kicking at the blankets. Before Blake could back up, Gwen reached up to touch his face. “Stop. Blake--”

“No! No, this is--I knew you would do this.”

He was still on top of her as though tethered there by the feather-light touch of Gwen’s fingertips on his cheek. “This world is too cold to trade for love, Blake. Don't make that mistake and think you’re gonna be warm the rest of your life.”

Slowly, Blake sat back on Gwen’s thighs, looking down at the blanket. He closed his eyes and pushed a hand through his sleep-mussed hair, making it stand up on end. “Why? Why me?”

Gwen fell silent and after several moments of quiet breathing, seething anger boiled inside him. Finally, Blake shook his head and moved off Gwen, throwing the blankets roughly aside. “Forget it--”

“Blake.” Gwen’s mind seemed to snap back into gear, and she caught Blake’s T-shirt just as he stood up beside the bed. 

“Let go, Gwen.”

Gwen let go of Blake’s shirt and twisted to sit up on the edge of the bed. “I do know you, Blake. And because I know you, I trust you and I lo--I need you to know how much I care about you.”

“You can care about me from California just like Adam does.”

He walked away from her and gathered more layers of clothing. He put them on in silence and left the room without a word.

* * *

Gwen spent four hours wondering where in the hell Blake had gone. After he left the bedroom, Gwen took a shower and couldn't go back to sleep. She ventured through the house, figuring he would be putting presents under the tree and then an early breakfast. She didn't care if they spent it in silence but he wasn't even there to endure the silence with. To make matters worse, there was a horrible blizzard blowing outside. 

Gwen tried to summon some sort of calm detachment, but the effort was a miserable failure. She cared too much about him. Almost slipped up in saying she  _ loved  _ him. Was even sure that he felt the same way. He trusted her. He let her in, let her get close, to his scars and his heart and his body. He might love her, but it might never cross his mind to mention it.

She went through two cups of tea and even allowed herself one bag of chips to stress eat. The whole house was still quiet, two kids anticipating the morning and two adults dreading it so as not to see the others face. Gwen chose to focus on the fact that Blake was strong. He wouldn’t get lost, even in the snow, and he wouldn’t shoot himself.

Frustrated, she sat and wrote three songs and drank more tea and read some book about star-crossed lovers that was in Blake’s library. Hunger forced her into the kitchen, where she heated up leftover rice and potatoes.

When Blake finally returned, entering the cabin on a gust of wind-driven snow, Gwen snapped, “Where were you?”

Blake pushed back his fur-edged hood and pulled off a ski mask crusted white with snow and tiny shards of ice. “Hunting.” His voice sounded raspy and harsh. He went right for the kitchen, fumbling to take off thick gloves. Over his shoulder, he carried a rifle.

“You were hunting?” Gwen demanded incredulously. “Alone? In a blizzard?”

Blake threw his gloves down on the kitchen counter and took a mug out of the dish rack. “The weather makes the animals more predictable to find.”

“What?”

“They’re all in one place,” he added in a mutter as he used a towel to pick up the kettle. He gave it a shake and snapped, “You couldn’t have kept this full?”

Gwen snapped back, “You left! You said nothing about where you were going! You just went out in a blizzard alone--”

“ _ I live alone! _ ” Blake slammed the kettle down onto the stove and turned, bracing his hands against the edge of the counter as he took a deep breath. “I’m cold, I’m hungry, and I’m tired, Gwen.”

“You should lower your voice unless you want two kids to find nothing under the tree.” She wanted to shout her own words but refrained.

“Go. Just...go in the living room or something,” Blake said only a bit less angrily. “I’ll get the presents.”

“I’ll do it,” Gwen said, not realizing she’d spoken until the words were out. “Just tell me where they are and I’ll do it.”

“I can do it.”

“I know. I just told you that I would so you didn't  _ have  _ to.”

“Why?” Blake asked, dumbly.

“What? I'm offering just tell me where they are.”

“Stop being nice. I just treated you like shit, don't be nice to me.”

“This isn’t about you. This is about the kids.”

“No.” Blake shook his head firmly. “It's about us. You’re clearly mad so just get out whatever it is you need to say.”

“I'm mad because you put yourself at risk.”

“I’ve lived here for years; I think I know when I'm in danger.”

“Of course, because you’re perfect and have never made a mistake. People and things don't happen to you, you happen to  _ them. _ ”

“What's that supposed to mean.”

“Never mind, Blake. I don't even know why I try.”

“Me either.”

Gwen stopped to look incredulously at him. “I try because you’re worth it despite what you think of yourself.” She sighed. “I try so that you don't have to. So you can see how good you are. How beautiful and handsome you are. So you can stop trying to hide, so I can--”

“Is that what this was about?” Blake demanded in disbelief. “Me wearing a shirt to bed?”

Gwen glared and deliberately continued, “So you can stop hiding  _ everything. _ You think I'm gonna leave as soon as I see the rest of you, inside  _ and  _ out--”

“You are gonna leave. Whether you get that close or not.”

“I'm not going anywhere without you.”

“Then you'll die."

It wasn't a threat. It was a statement, and it made Gwen listen.

"Not the good, clean way you want either. I’ll keep trying to break you first because I like the mess. I’ll think of new ways to make you more like me cause I’m the only person I can take care of. I’ll literally destroy you, Gwen. With the drugs and the hiding and the lack of commitment. And eventually, days or months down the line, I’ll succeed. I’ll shatter your soul until you're nothing but a drooling mess that can barely remember your own name because once upon a time, five men in masks did the same to me. And then just for kicks because I’m fucked up, I’ll see how many times I can put you back together, until I get bored of shattering you in the first place. And once you finally, after months or years--if you even make it that far--die, don't be shocked when I bring you back from the dead to start all over again. I am not a man you want to spend the rest of your life with. Hell, your dead cheating husband would have been a better choice.”

Gwen stared with wide eyes, unsurprised to feel tears in the corners of them.

"I think," Gwen started. "That you understand very well how people can be hurt. And that includes yourself. You want me to leave? As soon as I can, Blake. As soon as I can.”


	11. Go ahead, love me deep until you can't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the beautiful song Love Me Like I'm Not Made of Stone, by Lykke Li, as are the lyrics to start the chapter. I recommend giving it a listen as this song was most of my inspiration for writing this chapter.

_Even though it hurts, even though it scars, love me when it storms, love me when I fall._

 

“You can't wrap for shit.” 

Blake looked up from his coffee and smirked. “Neither can you.”

“I’m still better than you.”

“And I really don't give a shit. As long as the kids are happy.”

Adam nodded. “I appreciate you...doing that for me.”

“Is Behati still not talking?”

“She said good morning to me.”

Blake took a sip of the steaming liquid. “I really am sorry. I know that probably doesn't mean much.”

“I should have told her when it happened.”

Blake doesn't say anything to that.

“What about Gwen?” Adam asked after a moment of silence.

“What about her?”

“She hasn't said a word to you all morning.”

He shrugs and takes another sip, “I’m thinkin’ about goin' back to rehab.”

Adam sets his own mug down abruptly. Blake’s eyes flicker to his brother’s surprised expression.

“I noticed you changed the subject and I'm not happy about it but--rehab? Again?”

“Not like before. But I should start seeing Maverick again.”

“Ok. Do you want me to help?”

“There isn't really anythin’ you can do.”

“Why don't you just get rid of the stash you have now. If you don't have the stuff in the house anymore, you won’t be tempted to use.”

“Adam...if I get rid of the drugs, I’m gonna go insane. And if I don't get rid of the drugs, I’ll kill myself using them. I don't--I need help.”

Blake sees Adam nodding from the corner of his eye, anxiously rubbing his hands down on his thighs.

“You’ve never--I mean...what made you want to try now?”

Blake contemplated silently for several moments before he eventually spoke. “There was a coping technique that I adopted in the army. When I thought I was going to die in any given situation. It was that I was already dead. The bullet just hadn’t found me yet. It kept me safe and grounded and sharper than I've ever been. But I keep living my life like it's already over, like I'm already gone. The only bullet threatenin’ to kill me is the one from my gun and I don't plan on pullin’ the trigger. At least, not anymore. I want to be better, Adam. I do.” 

“I want you to. It kills me to see you struggling like this.”

“Not for long, hopefully,” Blake declares, leaning on his side to pull out a small box. He reaches for one of the rolls of paper discarded on the floor and opens it to reveal a reindeer on the wrapping.

“What is that?” Adam asked, curiously.

“Christmas present,” Blake murmurs.

“For who?”

“Who do ya think?”

He doesn't have to look up to know Adam is smirking.

“Uncle Blake!”

He startled at the loud voice, looking up to see Dusty rushing into the room.

“What?”

“Stop it.”

He mindlessly continued to wrap the gift but paused when she reached a tiny hand out to stop him. “What is your problem?”

“You can’t use that paper, Uncle Blake.”

“Why the hell not?”

“It has reindeer on it.”

“So?”

“You shoot them for fun!”

“I don’t shoot reindeer. I shoot regular deer.”

“Same thing.”

“No it's not.”

“Yes it is.”

“No. It's not.”

“Yes. It is.”

“Both of you, be quiet.” Adam interrupted. “God it's like I have three children.”

Blake and Dusty both beam at him. “Why don't you help get your brother dressed and ready and i’ll take you both out to the pond to skate.” Blake told her.

Scrunching her nose up in that adorable way she does when she’s happy, Dusty wrapped her arms around Blake’s neck and kissed him soundly on the cheek. “My hair will get frizzy but I guess the hot chocolate after is worth it,” she says when she leaps away and runs gracefully to the bedroom.

“Diva just like her mama.” Blake says, shaking his head fondly.

“Mom would be proud.”

Blake agrees. Thinks it’s funny how their mom worked, and love when she was alive. Especially  when it came to Adam. She loved him, but she was never certain of anything when it came to him.  She’d shoot a man in cold blood to protect him, but she didn’t always like him, at times wanted to make him disappear. She’d probably die for him, but half the time he was completely invisible to her. She treated him so badly one minute, then switched over to a caring and loving mother like she didn't know which one she decided to be that week. Adam would die for her sake in a heartbeat, despite what's been done to him, despite his childhood, but their mother had to be bothered to notice that's true. And now, if she were still alive, she'd love his children unconditionally. She'd be the mother to them Adam never had.

It became less funny the more he thought about it.

* * *

The water went from warm to hot in a matter of minutes, and Blake couldn't help but relax as the droplets cascaded down his body like snow falling gently down a mountain. 

The pond was as always an enjoyable experience and Blake even skated around the perimeter a couple of times. When him and the kids got back in, Behati was already making hot chocolate. She stared at him as she told the kids to sit down and Gwen helped them out of their clothes and wrapped blankets around them as they sat at the island. Neither woman spoke to him, but Blake didn't feel too put out about it. He basically tilted Behati’s marriage on its side and scattered all of the put together pieces from Gwen’s puzzle in a matter of two days. It must be a record.

Blake decided a long hot shower would be the only warmth he'd get that evening; literally and figuratively speaking. So he discreetly laid the present on the bed and went to seclude himself in the steam of the bathroom. Blake had been in there for over an hour but he still felt the cold deep in his body. Only his shoulder felt warm, and that was an agonizing flame, not a comfortable glow. He stood sideways to the shower spray, aiming the water directly at the bullet scar, and rested his forehead against his other arm, propped against the cold tile wall.

He keeps waiting for the water to turn cold to get out. And that's the problem with life--with his life specifically. He keeps waiting for something to come along that's bigger, that's better, stronger, something to take him out but keep him in. Gwen is small, subordinate to his rank, fragile. But she scratches painfully at his skin and eyes and his heart melts just at the sight of her. She's sexy and intuitive and alluring. But it’s not even the sex that he wants the most. It’s the nothing. He wants to say nothing as he slides in front of her in the morning to eat breakfast, he wants her to say nothing as he kisses her soundly on the lips, just because they can. Just because he can. Because no one and nothing would think anything of it. He wants her nothing. He’s never wanted nothing so badly. But nothing also means waiting. Waiting for  _ something. _

Everyone around him seems to be waiting. Waiting for the next group in rehab, waiting for the next move in a marriage, waiting to go home, waiting to score again. A few of them, waiting to die. He’s waiting to get clean--to find a reason to even try. He knows what he said earlier about living like he's already dead. But was that really enough to change him? He thinks Gwen might be a solid motive but he didn’t dare grow dependent on her presence. As it was, just having Gwen in his bed was an addiction that Blake already felt hooked deep in his mind.

There was a knock on the bathroom door.

“I'm in here,” he called.

The door opened and Blake straightened up. “I said I'm in here--”

The the light went out, and he looked up abruptly. “What the hell?”

In answer, the shower cubicle door opened. “Your skin is going to fall off,” Gwen said, her voice subdued. She slid a hand over Blake’s bare chest, startling him into flinching back. A moment later, the shower turned off, and Blake shivered at the absence of warmth.

“Where’s my--” Blake cut off as his groping hand encountered soft fabric. Then Gwen was right in front of him, wrapping him in a towel.

“Gwen...you don’t have to.”

Her hands went still, lightly resting on his upper arms. “I want to.”

Blake shivered as Gwen went back to drying him off. She rested the towel on his shoulders, and reached for another one to dry off his legs.

“You got me a Christmas present.” She murmured.

Tentatively, Blake brushed his fingertips against Gwen’s hair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that earlier. I just--I want you to know what you’re askin’ of me is somethin’ I can never give.”

Gwen rose, tying the towel around his waist. Her hands returned to his arms, sliding up, but she stopped before his shoulder as if she knew how badly the bullet scar ached. “I don’t do relationships. I barely kept one alive with my husband.”  

“Gwen--”

“Don’t say anything,” she interrupted. “I’m not like other people. Neither are you. Everything you think you know about me--everything you think I should fear--is wrong.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

Gwen’s hand lifted from Blake’s left arm, and a moment later, soft fingertips brushed over his lips. “You’re the treasure I outlived a husband to find. And I'm the gift you survived a war to unwrap. What I’m asking is for you to carry me with you, not put me on some shelf to never touch and look at again. I won't break. You won't ruin me, Blake. Stop fighting and finally give in. You know you want to.”

He couldn’t bring himself to say no and he didn’t dare lie--not to Gwen. Instead he asked, “Why did you turn off the light?”

Gwen’s hand moved to press against Blake’s chest. “You want to hide your scars, even though you don’t have to. Not from me.”

His heart thudded uncomfortably against his ribs, loud to his ears. Was he that transparent? Blake is suddenly very, very glad for the darkness.

“It’s getting cold,” he said evasively, though truthfully.

Gwen left her hand resting warmly against his sternum as she leaned up to kiss him. “Get dressed. The kitchen’s warm and dinner is almost ready.”

* * *

“Where did you find this necklace.” 

Standing just inside the door, Gwen dressed in just his shirt. Everyone had gone to bed, save for Blake who was sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in hand. He really never slept and it bothered her more than she let on. In her own hand, she cupped the gold medal shaped into a brilliant sunflower that hung low on a slim beaded chain. It caught in the moonlight and reflected off her pale skin like a prism. “When did you buy it?”  

Blake pushed out the chair next to him with his foot, and motioned for her to sit. “It was my mom’s,” he said. The pot and Blake’s cup sat on the table in front of him, along with a small box of needles. He hadn't used anything, she knows. But he stared at the box like he wanted to. She supposed he does. 

“It’s beautiful,” Gwen said, not moving to take the seat. She scanned the room. “Thank you.” 

Blake hummed languidly, prodding at the box with a unsteady finger. “Why aren't you in bed?” He asked.

“Wanted to look at you for a little bit,” Gwen confessed instantly, unabashedly. “Since you won't sleep with me.”   
  
Blake lowered his eyes, embarrassed. “Either I sleep with you or shoot up. I'm havin’ a hard time decidin’.”   
  
Gwen crossed to stand behind Blake’s chair, and lay her hands on his shoulders, then stroked them down and out toward his upper arms, slowly, over and over, softening the tight muscles there, fingers gliding over small holes that have scared over the years.    
  
“Of course I'm biased and want you to choose me,” she said, “Is this how it's always going to be? You having to decide between me and a needle?” 

“I told you I’d kill you one day with this.”   
  
“At least you tell the truth.” Gwen kept one hand on his shoulder, while the other smoothed upward along the back of his neck, over the scar that wrapped around the flesh like a vice. A wound made from burning flames, to match his inextinguishable soul. Her fingers raked up through Blake’s hair, separating the dark waves from the light ones with her fingers. Blake’s head dropped forward slightly and his breathing changed, shallow and drawn out, as if he were nearing sleep. “You’re tired,” Gwen went on in a low voice. “You should let me kiss you back to life, or sleep, whichever one you want more.” Gwen’s hands followed each other up Blake’s neck, through his hair, back down to his collar, then up again, slowly. He hummed in a way Gwen had not heard before. She leaned close to Blake’s ear and murmured, “Come to bed.”   
  
Blake’s head lolled slowly side to side on his forward-tilted neck, and he reached up to pull one of Gwen’s hands around to his mouth. He pressed his lips against the heel of her hand, moved a bit and kissed again, then kissed again, and held her there. Her breath ghosted against Blake’s ear as she whispered, “I need you.”   
  
Blake drew in a long breath, and held Gwen’s hand against his chest.   
  
“I can’t,” he muttered.

“Don’t be afraid.” Gwen nuzzled against his ear, his hair, his temple, kissing, grazing, warm exhalations and cool intakes of breath against Blake’s face. “Let me show you.” Blake’s eyes were closed, and he leaned into her kisses, the heat of her breath.   
  
“Gwen,” Blake murmured, and he was turning his face toward her, his mouth seeking her mouth.   
  
“Please,” she murmured.

Blake’s tongue slipped out to moisten his parted lips and he tilted his chin upward. Gwen’s fingers and thumb trapped Blake’s jaw and steadied it; her other hand stroked slowly all along Blake’s bare forearm, and he breathed, “I can’t. Cause if I do, you have to swear on your life never to leave me and never to stop looking at me the way you’re looking at me right now, like I'm some sort of miracle, because if I have to go back to the way it was yesterday, and this mornin', without having you, I will shoot myself, Gwen so help me God--”

“Shh,” she whispered, “Stop.”

Gwen rested her lips against the outer corner of his mouth, just a hair’s breadth away. Gwen could taste Blake’s breath: black coffee and peppermint.   
  
“I’m not leaving you.” Gwen pressed a light kiss on the opposite corner of his mouth, then the tip of her tongue dipped briefly into the divot at the very corner of his lips, and pushed down, forcing Blake’s lips further apart. Slowly, her tongue slid across his lower lip toward the center. Almost immediately, though, she withdrew it.   
  
Blake whined.

“I won't ever leave you.” 

Blake was so near, his mouth brushed against her mouth, tickling, teasing, as he spoke. “Even the drugs?” Blake’s stubble scraped the pads of Gwen’s fingers and thumb, still gripping the lower part of Blake’s face. Gwen leaned back far enough to look into his eyes, and saw that the pupils were huge and black in the pale blue irises. 

“Even the drugs.” Gwen told him quietly. She hoped he would be free of the distraction of it once they were together, just the two of them. “Come to bed, Blake.”

All at once, he rose and moved into her arms, toward the hallway and toward the bedroom.   
  
She makes love to him like she means it, like she feels it. Maybe, she already does. It’s to kiss someone's bruises like you would kiss their lips. Stand by their side not just when it's easy but damn near impossible.

_ How long till we call this love? _


	12. You came into the picture like a natural.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the beautiful song Better, by SYML, as are the lyrics to start the chapter. I recommend giving it a listen as this song was most of my inspiration for writing this chapter.

_And I know, and I know it's a different love, and I know, and I know that you make me better._

 

“So then…the monster comes in! He’s got his claws out and his teeth are sharp and he’s growling! And somehow…somehow, Blakey!” Axel took a breath, his first in at least twelve paragraphs of monologue, and looked over to his Uncle with great patience. “Are you listening, Uncle Blake?”   
  
“I am!” 

“They why are your eyes closed?”

Blake huffed and turned over on his side, jostling the bed sheets and blankets as he did. “I’m just closing them so I can better picture the monster you’re talkin’ about.” Blake looked over at his nephew and smiled, his nerves, his anger at not being able to shoot up, slowly melting away at this child’s enthusiasm in every single breath he takes. “So, the monster is growling and baring his teeth…then what?”

“THEN! Oh my goodness. Then, he starts taking people out. But it’s only the bad guys! How does he know, Blakey? How.does.he.KNOW?”   
  
“I don’t know. Do you know?”   
  
“NO! But he knows. And then BAM! Takes him right out!”   
  
“Takes him out how?” 

“Like you did when you went to fight the bad guys. Daddy said you shot them and beat them up because they were mean. But the monster doesn’t get hurt like you did.”

“Well I guess that's for the best.”

“Yeah. How come you don't have kids?” Axel asked quietly.  
  
“I just never got around to it.” 

“If you did...me and Dusty would have somebody to play with.”

“I’m sorry, buddy. I’m...you’re my first. You and your sister.”

“Your first what?” Axel moved closer across the pillow until their noses brushed. 

“Kid…thing. I’ve never…I probably shouldn’t say this, but I’ve never really liked kids until your dad had you and Dusty.”   
  
“Oh my goodness. Well. I’ll always be good so that you like me. I promise.”   
  
“I know you will. But that's not why I like you. I just think you’re so damn cool.” Axel giggled at his use of the curse word. “You and Dusty always make me laugh and no matter how many times I mess up, you never think of me as a failure. I don't have many friends...actually I don't have any if I’m bein’ honest but then that's not completely accurate either. You and your sister are my best friends and I love you guys so much. I wish I did better by you guys and still do. But, if I seem like I don’t know what I’m doing at times…it’s because I don’t.”   
  
“That’s okay. I’m only five. I never know what I’m doing.”   
  
Blake laughed and took Axel’s hand, helping him up and over until he laid against his side, his little head nestled against his chest. “I think you and I can figure it out together.”   
  


* * *

 

Gwen knows there are all these small moments in life that are formative. They are not momentous events that send up a red flag screaming CHANGE. It is the moment when you’re young and you decide to switch college courses and set yourself on a new career path. Or it’s the time you turned left instead of right and avoided that car accident. Every day those moments, those twists of fate, happen and you don't even realize it as they pass. Only later, when you look back, do you see the scattered remnants of change and realize how that original moment re-shaped your life. 

Gwen was too caught up admiring the sight in her bedroom she shared with Blake. It had been almost a week since that night in the kitchen. When Blake had laid her down and whispered promises in her skin. Promises to stop, to be better, to be hers, to  _ try.  _ And things were better. Besides the mood swings and irritation of not being able to get high, Blake was sweet, and doting, and funny. Gwen feels like he was more  _ present  _ than he's ever been before. Like tonight, during dinner, Blake had cooked for everyone by himself. It allowed Adam and Behati a break and her a glimpse into what a future could be like with just the two of them.

They ate in comfortable silence save for the two kids piping up now and then about returning back to school once they got home. It reminded Gwen that her time here in Canada was coming to an end. She didn't know if leaving with Blake was an option or staying there was the only way she could be with him, truthfully. It was a conversation they needed to have and that's what she was determined to do. After dinner, she left Adam and Behati to the dishes--the couple still not on good speaking terms but not outwardly hostile--to take a long shower. She changed into pajama pants and one of Blake’s hoodies that she stole. Half an hour later, hair still damp, she returned to the bedroom to find both Blake and Axel sound asleep on the bed. Axel had one hand curled around Blake’s neck, fingers tangled in his dark curls. Blake had one arm wrapped protectively around the little boy and the other clutched a book that he must have been reading before they both fell to slumber. Gwen smiled softly, not willing to wake either of them up.

She grabbed the blankets and gently covered both of them with it. Then she pried the book from Blake’s hand and turned out the light on the nightstand. She returned back to the living room as quietly as she could and placed a quick text to all three of her kids. Reception was terrible for her but texts seemed to be the only sufficient way to contact them. Afterwards, Gwen considered staying awake to read or write, but found she was exhausted. Instead, she settled too many blankets on the floor right in front of the fireplace, crawled underneath the warmth, and swiftly fell asleep.

* * *

“Blake?” 

The fire had long since burned out, the hot embers just glowing slightly at the base. It was the chill that woke her, but it was the dim light coming from behind that made her open her eyes. It was still night and Gwen turned around to see the desktop light on, and Blake’s dark figure sat beside it. He was looking down at the desk but lifted his head suddenly as she called.

“I was just--I didn't mean to wake you.” He said quietly.

“You couldn’t sleep?” She asked, rising from her comfortable spot on the floor where she was wrapped in a cocoon of blankets. She went to him and leaned over the back of the chair, reveling in the way Blake pushed back against her, rather than flinching away.

“I didn’t want to scare Axel in case I had a--you know.” He cleared his throat. “Plus he kicks in his sleep and there's only so much my back can take at this age,” he said.

Gwen grimaced. “My youngest used to do the same thing, except he liked slapping more than kicking.”

“Yeah. Well, not my area,” he said evasively.

“Sometimes it seems like you don't really like kids.”

“It’s not that I don't like them. I love Dusty and Axel, more than most adults. It takes time and effort to work up to the level of asshole most people are at.”

Gwen smiled. “So what is it, then?”

“I like kids..now..I just don't know how I feel about you havin’ them.” Blake gave Gwen an odd look, but it came with a very slight smile, so Gwen assumed whatever he was trying to say was generally positive.

“Mine are grown. Hardly anything to do to take care of them.”

“They’re still alive. And you’re still clearly their mother.”

“So?”

“You come with baggage and that scares me,” Blake said truthfully. “I’m not the best person to want to be around all of the time. But at least I’m all you get when you do. You come with other people that are a part of you. It's like another family waiting for me to fuck up again. I get enough disappointment from Adam, I don't need it tenfold.”

“I don't just get you, Blake,” Gwen said with a laugh. “You come with an addiction, and a past I want to ask about but am afraid of the answers. You come with scars, and burns, and a toughness that reminds me of my father but scares me like my husband. We just have to figure it out.”

“I’m not good at figuring things out, I’m only good at pointing out when they need to be,” he sighed.

“Good thing you don't have to do it alone.” She smiled as she slid her hand to the back of Blake’s neck, playing with the short hairs, and watched Blake’s eyes fall closed as he shivered. “I think now, since we’re kind of already talking about it…”

“I’m not ready,” he said, twisting around to look up at her. “Later--we can talk about it later.”

“You’ve been clean for almost a week now,” Gwen mused, brushing her fingers up into Blake’s hair, enjoying the subtle way he tipped his head back against the touch. She stroked down over his nape, brushing too lightly to feel his cervical vertebrae, earning another shiver.

“That isn’t even a victory let alone a big one. When I'm clean for a month--on my own--no help from the rehab center--then we can talk about this.”

“I leave in two weeks.”

“Can’t you stay a little longer?” An edge of nervousness crept into his voice. “Do you need to go back?”

Gwen frowned, flattening her palm on the back of Blake’s neck, fingers curling around to feel his pulse; it was unusually fast. “No.” She looked sidelong at Blake and watched his mouth soften, corners twitching up. “Not without you,” Gwen answered.

Blake’s pulse jumped, though he turned away, forcing a casual tone as he said, “I live here. My house is here, my land...I can’t leave all this.”

Gwen let her fingers relax, casually running the tips over the side of his neck. “You shoot up here. You have nightmares here--”

“I’ll have nightmares anywhere.”

“You don't know that. You’ve been living here ever since you let your demons win. Maybe leaving will finally allow you to let them go. Start over with me?”

“Gwen--”

She leaned down, ostensibly to look at the dead fire across the room, and let out a derisive huff that ghosted over his ear. “Tell me what you’re afraid of.”

His breathing faltered as Gwen brushed her lips over the curve of his ear. “Gwen--I can't explain it.”

“What scares you?”

“No. What kills me. You. Me. I can't explain it or us.”

She leaned down further, laying a trail of hot, gentle kisses down Blake’s neck. “It’s not a crime to love what you can't explain.” She hooked a finger in the collar of his button-down and tugged it aside, baring a triangle of flesh over his right shoulder, so she could bite, pressing her teeth in slowly, listening to the way Blake’s breath stuttered. Blake fumbled and reached out to grab hold of her leg. The chair creaked as he leaned back, eyes closed.

After Gwen released the bite just as slowly, she asked again, “Start over with me?”

He rolled the chair two inches back and turned to face her. He started to rise, but Gwen stopped him very, very carefully, resting her fingertips lightly on Blake’s chest. She was wary of triggering another attack, but it was necessary that she push Blake or he would never push himself. There was no other way to prove that Blake was strong enough to leave the cocoon of the house and go back into the world, at Gwen’s side.

“Stay,” Gwen said, circling around in front of Blake. She stayed slightly off-center however, leaving his left side clear, a reassurance that he could break free, walk away whenever he felt the need. Slowly, Gwen let her hand trail down Blake’s chest, fingers catching on the buttons, dipping into the gaps to touch his T-shirt underneath.

Tentatively, Blake leaned back again, eyes fixed on Gwen. He licked his lips and Gwen couldn’t resist leaning up and in to chase his tongue back into his mouth in a sudden kiss that seemed to catch Blake off guard. His big hands skimmed up her sides, holding her close with a light touch. Gwen caught his face much more firmly, biting at his lower lip before she swept her tongue back into his mouth. She pressed her body against Blake’s right leg, and only then let her right hand fall to Blake’s chest. This time, when she followed the trail of shirt buttons down, Blake shivered and whispered, “Gwen.”

“Don’t talk,” she said, kissing him into silence. When he relaxed, complying, Gwen kissed him again and brushed the fingers of her left hand up over Blake’s eyelashes. “Keep your eyes closed for me.”

Tension rippled through Blake, but he nodded slightly. He licked his lips again and opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. Gwen pushed him to sit back down in the chair and knelt between his legs, back on her heels, resting her hands on his strong thighs. Immediately, his legs parted just slightly, the movement so subtle as to be subconscious. Gwen smiled, watching her lover’s face as she trailed her hands down to Blake’s inner thighs, pressing his legs open a bit more. Gwen slid her hands up the insides of his thighs again, reading the subtle responses on his face. She lightened his pressure as she ran both hands up over Blake’s cock, feeling it swell under the touch, straining at his jeans. He shifted his hips but made no effort to move away, and his eyes stayed closed even as his lips silently parted. His breathing was loud in the eerily silent room.

Quickly, Gwen worked at his belt buckle, freeing it so she could get at the buttons and zipper below. She tugged Blake’s jeans open as far as she could. It wasn’t far enough.

“Lift,” she whispered.

Without hesitation, Blake shifted against the chair, bracing his feet on the floor, hands on the seat. He lifted his hips enough for Gwen to work his jeans down to his thighs. To distract Blake from consciously recognizing the way his jeans trapped his legs, Gwen leaned over his thigh to press her mouth against Blake’s cock. She breathed through the stretchy, cotton, black briefs he still wore.

Blake moaned above her, whispering, “Fuck,” under his breath as he slid his hand into her soft hair.

Heat blossomed deep in Gwen’s gut. She leaned down even more, pressing her lips to the damp spot of fabric stretched taut over Blake’s glans. His whole body reacted with a sudden twitch, and his hands dropped to clench the sides of the chair. With slow, teasing motions, Gwen worked her fingers under the waistband of the underwear, easing the fabric away from his skin and leaned over, chest pressed to Blake’s knees, and licked at his abdomen. Blake’s breath hitched; the touch had caught him by surprise. Gwen felt ruined skin under her lips and realized why. It was her first scar she kissed. Murmuring an apology in the skin, Gwen pulled away.

Blake was tense until she slid her fingers together, pulling the waistband further away, exposing Blake’s cock to the cool air for just a moment. He relaxed when she closed the distance and flicked her tongue over the slit, losing the contact when his cock jerked up at the touch.

For a few seconds that probably felt to him like minutes, Gwen teased, lightly licking wherever she could reach without taking his briefs further down his body. Blake’s breathing became ragged, and though he didn’t overtly move, his spine arched and his hips canted in an effort to coax her closer.

Once Blake conquered all of his fears, Gwen would be free to push him further than she’d ever imagined. The thought was intoxicating, stealing her breath away. She knew it would be glorious--the most amazing thing she's ever seen.

* * *

Blake drifts into consciousness in stages, memories floating up like bubbles through water.   
  
They fell into an exhausted collapse of limbs into Gwen’s little make-shift bed in front of the fire. He silently pats himself on the back for mustering the strength earlier to start it again, it was freezing. It was always freezing. 

They weren’t even wearing any clothes. 

But he didn't care, because now, Gwen’s warm, lean form is draped over his, limbs heavy with sleep. Slow exhalations tickle his naked collarbone and a blonde mop of strands brushes his chin in time with every breath. One long arm trails over his chest, and a long beautiful leg sprawls over his thighs. She’s touching him everywhere he’s burned and cut and damaged and he's intoxicated by how good it actually feels.

He blinks his eyes open, squinting into the early morning light. The room opens up around him, and his eyes trail down the lines of Gwen’s body spread over him, elegant even in sleep.   
  
Gwen, here like this--warm and relaxed and naked and his. It sends a ripple of pleasure down his spine.   
  
A handful of groping kisses in the dark, a few hand jobs, amazing, passionate sex, and one memorable blow job just last night, Gwen pinning Blake’s hips down to the chair and working his cock with that clever mouth, until he came scant minutes later, breathless and sobbing, fingers twisted in Gwen’s hair.   
  
It was all amazing.   
  
But this.   
  
Gwen, boneless and relaxed in his arms. Blake is tempted to slide his fingers into that hair and pull her close enough to scrape his teeth over that jaw, bury his nose in that long neck. But it’s early yet, and Gwen’s been worrying so much lately about his sobriety. He satisfies himself by brushing his lips over the beautiful mess of hair hovering below his chin.   
  
As if reading his thoughts, Gwen nuzzles his neck in her sleep, sighing as she stretches, languid and sinuous, thrusting lightly against his hip. Blake lets his fingers trail down the line of Gwen spine, flattening his hand and resting a palm over the supple of flesh of her ass, urging her closer. Gwen rocks against him again and Blake’s chest flutters.   
  
Just the slightest encouragement, and Gwen continues, moaning softly against his skin. Blake groans, and reaches down to stroke his own cock, light movements, head dropping back in relief.   
  
Gwen sighs into his neck, and Blake’s skin prickles in hot pleasure. Gwen’s voice is more rumble than sound. “Mmm. Blake.”   
  
He hums into her hair. “You’re awake.”   
  
She stretches, indolent as a cat, and rubs her nose under his jaw. “It's too early to be awake,” she mumbles, supercilious even as she presses her arousal against his hip.   
  
“Let me fuck you back to sleep, then.” Blake shifts, nudging Gwen onto her back, and plants his elbows on either side of Gwen’s head. She blinks up at him, sleepy and warm and pliant, fingers trailing over his shoulders.   
  
Blake looks down at her, searches those mesmerizing eyes, and finds them wide and clear and focused on nothing but him. He things of getting high. Her stare is a steady burn that sparks his mind as well as his desire. Cocaine had been a flash fire, burning through his system as quickly as it entered him. But the taste of Gwen is an aphrodisiac, the burn of her vision is an injection, the smell of her sweat is a hazy smoke. Blake wants to consume it all like the addict he has never ceased being. A jolt of pleasure trickles down his spine, and he hums in satisfaction. He slides one hand into those soft strands, and watches Gwen’s pupils dilate as he tightens his fingers and pulls, incrementally, until Gwen’s long, pale neck is vulnerable beneath him.   
  
Blake leans forward until he’s close enough to breathe in the heat of her skin, lips hovering at the crook of her neck. His eyes close, and he breathes deep: sleep-warm skin and hints of citrus soap and  _ Gwen _ , above it all. This is it, for him. It's all for him. This scent will always go straight to his gut and his cock and his heart, for the rest of his life. If he even has her tomorrow to call his own.   
  
Gwen makes a small, impatient sound, and her hips twitch upward. Blake smiles, and something dark and delicious twists in his gut, a spiraling curl of heat.   
  
He skims his nose up the long line of Gwen’s neck to nuzzle at the soft skin below her jaw as he pushes in slowly. He pauses as the tight muscles grip the head of his cock, but eventually loosen and open up for him, hot around his skin and flesh. He runs his lips along the shell of one ear, and then presses his nose to Gwen’s temple and inhales again, deep and satisfying, as Gwen’s hands drift up his back. He worries the soft skin of her earlobe between his teeth, and then bites down, quick and sharp. Gwen’s hands jump to his hips and push him deeper inside of her, and her bitten-off groan makes Blake smile against her skin.   
  
He lets his lips slide down her jaw, and brushes a soft kiss over the corner of her mouth. Gwen presses up against him on a sigh. He smiles again. 

Gwen’s hand slides into his hair, fingers insistent at the back of his skull. “Blake.”

Blake lets their lips catch, and Gwen’s are soft and warm and obliging. She sighs in approval and relaxes under him, tipping her head up as he nips at her bottom lip and deepens the kiss to something dark and breathless.   
  
He leans back, unwinding his fingers from her own hair to run down her jaw and over her mouth. He picks up the pace gradually, even, deep strokes that make his hips twitch.   
  
Gwen’s hand drifts up the nape of his neck, the restless stroke of long fingers raising goosebumps on his skin. Blake reaches up to capture her fingers, drawing them over his mouth to press his lips against. 

He doesn’t break eye contact as he gives another deep stroke. “What do you want?”

Gwen moans quietly. “You.”   
  
“Do you know what I want?” Blake works his hips in small circles, as he stroked his hand over her thigh.   
  
Gwen shakes her head, but she mumbles, “Yes.”   
  
“I want to fuck you very, very, very slowly.” Blake gives a particularly hard thrust to emphasize his words. 

“Yes.”   
  
“Touch yourself.”   
  
Gwen’s reaction is immediate. She runs a hand down her labia, those long fingers elegant even now, and strokes once, her eyes rolling back and  her mouth falling open with pleasure.   
  
“Don’t come.” Blake adds another hard thrust, starting a smooth rhythm, and the stretch of Gwen’s body around him was intoxicating.   
  
She groans, and her hand slows on her clit, her strokes turning light and teasing, her moans a near-continuous stream of sound.   
  
“Don’t come,” he repeats.   
  
She nearly sobs in frustration, but fists her hands in the blankets instead, her head rocking side to side with every thrust of Blake’s hips.   
  
“Blake.”   
  
“Shh.” Blake strokes his palm down Gwen’s thigh in a soothing motion as he pulls out, then scoots closer, gripping his cock at the base and nudging the head against Gwen’s slick, twitching hole.   
  
“Is this what you want?”   
  
“Yes, please, yes. Faster.”   
  
With effort, he slides his cock over the cleft of her ass rather than pressing in. “Are you sure?” Blake’s own cock is aching, balls tight and sensitive, sweat dripping down his back, but he waits for Gwen’s response.   
  
“Yes!” She hisses quietly, her back arching as she tries to press herself closer to him, bangs plastered to her forehead with sweat.   
  
He slides in deep again in one smooth thrust.   
  
Gwen moans. “Blake. Yes, more.”   
  
He groans. “God, yes.” He pulls back to sink in again, hips moving in smooth, liquid thrusts as he builds up another slow rhythm.   
  
Gwen is splayed out under him, sweaty and gorgeous, a flush spreading down her chest as she rocks her head restlessly against the blankets. He reaches a hand down to rub at her raw and exposed nerves. She groans, deep and guttural, and arches off the floor, nearly dislodging Blake.   
  
“God, Gwen, you’re beautiful.” 

“More, Blake, please. Just, fuck me, please, hard.”   
  
Blake growls, and wraps one arm tight around Gwen’s thigh for leverage. His rhythm turns heavy and deep, and he can feel the jolt of their bodies meeting with every thrust all the way through his bones. He wraps his other hand tight around her back, pumping twice with his hips, and then Gwen’s face goes slack, eyes wide and dark as she comes in great shudders, back bowed, body heavy in his grip, hot, slick juices coating his cock.   
  
Restraint gone, Blake’s thrusts turn frantic and uncoordinated, sweat dripping into his eyes as the desperate need to come builds thick and heavy at the base of his spine. Then he’s coming with a muffled shout, hands gripping Gwen’s hips as his vision goes white and he shudders in pleasure.   
  
He collapses onto his elbows, letting his head hang down into the crook of Gwen’s neck as he shivers in the aftermath, brushing his lips over salty skin. She’s utterly boneless underneath him, chest heaving as she fights to regain her breath.   
  
Once he trusts his muscles not to collapse under him, he pulls out carefully, Gwen’s hand sliding to his hip as he goes. He collapses onto his side with a sigh. He looks up and catches a self-satisfied smile playing about Gwen’s mouth.

Blake rearranges his limbs until he’s half-draped across her, and releases a jaw-cracking yawn. “Why are you smirkin’?”

“Well.” She takes a few more breaths. “You’re letting me touch you. You’re naked and I love it.”   
  
Blake settles into Gwen’s shoulder, surprised that he didn't flinch at the mention of his vulnerability. He hums and his eyes drift closed. Gwen buries her nose in the hair at his temple. Her voice turns to a low, desperate rumble only millimeters from Blake’s ear as she mimics her earlier words. “ _ Please, Blake, fuck me _ .”   
  
Even now, his entire body jerks. “What are you doin’?”

Gwen’s voice is pleased. “You like it when I beg.”   
  
A flush steals up his cheeks. He mumbles against her smooth skin. “Fuck off.”   
  
“I just--from the way you talked about sex before, I thought that you weren't really into it, much less had any...fetishes.” 

He grimaced. “God, please don't call it that.”

She smirks, turning slightly to rub her hand across his damp curls. “I just didn't think it would be this strong with you. You never talk about it in such a way that made me think that it would be.”

“Because it isn't worth discussin'. Especially when I was young. Everyone finds sex to be so fascinating. It’s so simple, biologically speaking. And I didn't really have much of it to miss it or crave it. I was in the army for awhile and then I was on drugs. I’ve had sex, I just never saw the point.”

Gwen kept her hand stroking through Blake’s hair and tried not to tense up, which he would have noticed. She tried to sound casual. “Is it something you did because you thought I needed it?”

Blake was silent for a second, then opened his eyes. “No. Of course not. I just never saw the point. And then I met you. And suddenly I understood, why so many people placed such importance on sex. Because I wanted you, every inch of you. I wanted you laid out naked before me and I wanted to taste you until I could list every body part blindly, and I wanted you to scream my name and think of nothing but me and I wanted to bring you so much pleasure that you would crave me like a drug. So you finally understood how hard it is to stop once you start. And I wanted you to want me the same way. I wanted you to turn off everything in the world that wasn’t me, and I wanted you to drown me in sensation until I couldn’t breathe and was begging for relief and then I wanted you to drown me a bit more, just because you could.”

“You would be mine and I would be yours and we would never come up for air. We would just drown together.”

Blake stared over at her, his mouth dry. He could feel his blood pounding in his veins, thick and heavy, and he could not imagine how he had not realized how perfect she was for him. She got him. She wanted him as well. He was right, she was like a drug to him, like it had been too long since his last hit and now there it was, right in front of him, and he was light-headed with anticipation of what it would be like to have her next. “I want you like that,” he said, his voice low and rough and he was ridiculously aroused despite doing everything already.

Gwen shifted herself closer, her pupils already blown wide as she put her hands in Blake’s hair and pulled him near, until all Blake could see were Gwen eyes, boring into his own. “I am not this person for everyone else, Blake,” she said, her voice unsteady. “I am not this person who...wants. Not even for--”

“Just for me,” Blake said, cutting her off. And he meant it to be a question but it came out as a demand, a growl.   
  
“Just for you,” Gwen confirmed, and Blake kissed her, rough and bruising, a scouring away of all mouths that had kissed Gwen’s before his.   
  
“No one else,” Blake whispered, into the lack of air between them.   
  
“Never,” said Gwen, and hung onto the kiss, refusing to break it, even as she shifted to straddle Blake fully, pressing against him.

_ Never. _


	13. Have I found you?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the lovely song flightless Bird, American Mouth, by Iron & Wine, as are the lyrics to start the chapter. I recommend giving it a listen as this song was most of my inspiration for writing this chapter. There a two chapters left for this story.

_Have I found you? Flightless bird, jealous, weeping, or lost you?_

 

“So. How long have you two...been dating?” Miranda asked.

Startled by the question, Blake lifted his head and banged into the open refrigerator door. He bit back a curse and rubbed his scalp, saying, “We’re not--why would you--” 

“Adam told me before you got in. I think he still thinks I like you.”

“You don't like me?” Blake asked with a smile.

She returned it and leaned back against her kitchen sink. “I can’t say I'm not surprised though. I tried for years to get you to date me. I thought you were even gay at one point.” 

He felt a blush rise from his neck and quickly went back to finding room in her freezer for the deer meat he’d brought her.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Blake shoved the meat into the freezer bin with a bit more force than necessary. “We’re not dating--that's not what we’re doing. I don't date people.”

“You two are adorable together.” She sighed. “And she's hot. If you don't date her, I will.”

“Thanks for letting the family use your entertainment room,” Blake said, deliberately trying to change the subject. “I know Adam has been itchin’ to get back to the studio so lettin’ him make some music down there is very kind of you.”

“Of course. I hardly even use the sound system anymore.”

“If it ever acts up, let me know and I’ll take a look.”

She nodded.

“Hey Miranda?” Blake paused in shoving a heart into the side pocket of the freezer when Behati entered the kitchen. “Adam and Gwen are writing but there's no more paper in the desk. Do you have any up here?”

“Yeah, I think there's some in my study. Just check the printer.”

The mother of two smiled in thanks and walked out the room just as quickly as she’d come in.

“I thought she was a fashion consultant for the label,” Miranda said curiously.

He packed the last two packages into an empty space on top of some boxed popsicles. “She writes songs for the artists too. She’s actually really good,” he admitted, closing the low freezer door. “There. That should last you for another month or so.”

Miranda’s answer was interrupted by the kettle whistling. She turned to fill five mugs with hot water, saying, “I’ll just bring their tea out to the lab for them.”

“I can do that.”

“It’s fine. I want to see what they’re up to anyways. How does she take her tea?”

“Lots of sugar.”

“I found some of that sweet beer at the market. They’re in the fridge drawer if you rather have that,” she offered, taking a plastic tub of sugar out of the cupboard.

“I’ll ask Adam if I'm allowed,” Blake joked with a grin. He went to spoon three helpings of sugar into one of the mugs, then started mashing the tea bag to get it to steep more quickly. He gave it one last stir, strained the tea bag, and let her take the mug.

Miranda came back ten minutes later, looking just a bit dazed. “The music...”

When she couldn’t find a way to finish the sentence, Blake just smiled and said, “Yeah. They make magic together.”

She sat down at the kitchen table with him and gave him a smile. “She seems good for you, though.”

“What?”

“Look at you.” She reached out to hold his hand, her smile turning gentle. “You always have this...tension, only it’s gone now. And I’ve never seen you smile so much.”

Blake shook his head wryly, thinking she couldn’t be more wrong. In the space of just over a couple of weeks, he’d suffered more near-misses and actual attacks than he had for years before now.

“She’s--”

“She asked about you,” she said, speaking over him. Her smile was sly. “She said I should let her know if you started getting anxious up here.”

“God, I’m not five years old.” He smiled despite himself.

“See?” Miranda nudged him under the table and picked up her tea. “She makes you smile, even when she’s not here.”

“Ran...” Blake shook his head, “She was only here for the holiday. She’ll be back in L.A. before the end of January.”

“Oh.” Miranda’s eyes went wide for a moment. “I’m--that’s--I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I thought--I mean, you two--I thought--”

“You shouldn’t have.” He caught himself being snide and shook his head, bands of tension locked around his chest. “It’s just...I don't want her to go. I--I like her. I  _ care  _ for her. But it's unrealistic what she wants from me. I can't leave this place and she can't stay. It’s fine,” he said, and his smile turned brittle, because it wasn’t. Not for him.

Gwen talked about her home back in California every night--her job, her own brother, her kids--but Blake...somewhere inside, he’d still been living day-to-day, and Gwen had just slotted into his life as if she’d always belonged there. He felt better now, better than he had in years, as if a part of him from before the war was slowly reawakening--before the drugs, and before his injuries.

He’d never allow himself to think about what would happen when Gwen went back. As much as he wanted to believe her that there was no one else but him in her life now, as much as he wanted to relish in the fact that she picked him, she told him that she would never leave, it was all just a fantasy that neither can help wanting to live. Gwen would pick up her old life and hopefully find someone stable, worthy to spend the rest of her life with, and he would go back to his house up on the hill, back to surviving instead of really living, back to the drugs he no longer wanted to do, back to being alone, and all the work he’d done to fortify himself would be gone, leaving him raw and condemned to his self-imposed isolation. It might actually kill him this time to see her walk away--to see them all walk away. He wouldn’t make it a week before he’d snap and put a bullet in his brain.

“Blake?”

Miranda’s quiet voice intruded on his bleak thoughts. He gave her a quick, forced smile and shook his head. “Sorry,” he said, hearing the unsteady edge in his voice. “It’s gettin’ about that time for dinner. I should check and see how long they’re gonna be.”

Her pretty blue eyes went soft and sympathetic. In the years they’d been friends, she’d grown accustomed to his sudden mood swings. She’d once asked, but hadn’t pushed for an explanation. “Alright,” was all she said.

* * *

 

Gwen heard footsteps coming down the gloss wooden stairs and paused in her writing, turning instead to watch the door open. She immediately saw the way he carried himself, the tense set of his shoulders and the way his face looked drawn and flushed with cold and uncertainty, as if he’d been standing outside the door for at least ten minutes. If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he had just been standing outside, avoiding Miranda’s company--and hers, but that was just her nerves talking. Blake was in a good mood all day. 

“You guys almost done?”

Okay, something was wrong.

Gwen wanted to abandon the sheet of music she was working on to go to him but Adam’s voice stopped her.

“What is it?” He asked. 

Blake blinked and looked away evasively. “Nothing,” he lied. Badly. Gwen could hear the strain in his voice. “Just wonderin’ how much longer. There’s a snowstorm headed up this way.”

He wanted to leave, now. “Okay guys let's go.” Behati left her spot from the couch to get the kids dressed in their coats and hats while they watched some cartoon on the flat screen. Adam set the guitar back on its stand while Gwen went back to the table and picked up her parka and gloves.

“No, you don’t--Gwen, you guys aren’t done,” Blake protested as they all dressed to go outside.

It was her turn to lie, “We are though. Whatever we need to finish we can when we get back to L.A.” There was a flash of hurt across Blake’s face that Gwen didn't know where it had come from.

“Gwen--”

“Blake,” she cut in sharply, looking back at him as she zipped up her parka.

Blake looked down with an air of defeat. “I’ll let Miranda know.”

“I will,” Gwen corrected. “Why don't you show Blake the song, Adam. Just what we have so far. I’ll be right back and then we can leave.”

Adam perked up and went right back to the guitar and sheet music. Gwen slipped past Blake, giving him a little shove away from the doorway. “I’ll get your coat.”

She left without another word, and took the stairs up two at a time, a fire building in the pit of her stomach.

Miranda was cleaning off the counter. She smiled when she saw her enter the kitchen and started to greet her, then thought better of it as Gwen came at her without even a moment’s hesitation. “What happened? What did you say to him?” She demanded.

Miranda stared at her, eyes wide, and backed away.

“I didn’t--”

“Don’t lie.”

Her expression switched to one of determination and contempt, and she stared into Gwen’s eyes defiantly. “We were talking about you,” she said accusingly.

Wrong-footed, she asked, “Me?”

“You.” She nodded, tossing her head to throw her blonde hair back over her shoulders. “He said you’re leaving him.”

The words hit her like a punch, stealing her breath.

“What?” She asked dumbly.

Miranda crossed her arms, “I thought you were going to be good for him. But you’re really not that different at all, though, are you?”

Gwen rolled her eyes, “You really have no idea what you’re talking about do you?”

“I’m talking about you hurting Blake’s feelings.”

“Don’t talk to me about his feelings--”

“He loves you!”

Gwen froze, staring at her in shock. As though her silence gave her courage, she snapped at her some more, “So don’t come up here and accuse me of upsetting  _ my  _ friend when you’re the one who’s breaking his heart.”

She actually backed up a step. She knows it was a possibility, the more days they spend together, the more kisses and touches they share. She knows it really was just a matter of time. She knows it because it only took her this long to feel the same, perhaps even earlier. So no. She wasn't shocked that Blake actually loved her, she was surprised that someone other than them actually acknowledged it, said it out loud for her ears and her ears alone.

“I--”

“So don’t come up here and expect to make me the bad guy when this is all on you.” She continued, barely pausing for breath. “If you don’t even care, why don’t you just go back to California now, maybe give him a chance to get over you?”

“So you can have him?” Gwen snapped back.

Miranda scoffed but she could see the comment hit home. She was jealous and being ridiculous. She had no idea what was really going on. She’d built this little fantasy because that’s what people did, imagining love and fluffy happiness around them to deny the reality of the world. She could never understand and take care of Blake the way he needed, the way Gwen knew how. There was no point in arguing with her.

“Look. Whatever you did or didn't say, don’t do it again. You don’t know and he doesn't need you helping him doubt himself,” she warned her, though the words hardly made sense. Furious with herself, she looked around the kitchen, spotting Blake’s heavy winter coat on a chair in the living room. She swept past her, now determined to get Blake away from her and not let him come back.

“Gwen...at least tell him now, so he--”

“Tell him what?” Gwen asked, glaring back at her, stopping in the doorway. 

“That you don’t love him! It’s not fair to give him hope and lead him on if you’re just going to leave.”

Hugging the coat to her chest, Gwen turned on her, furious all over again. “Unlike you, I’m trying to help him. How long has he lived here and you didn't even know he had a drug addiction? For years and years, he’s been rotting away here, in the middle of nowhere, and I’m going to get him out. So I'm sorry that you like him, that you want to be with him, but he's not staying here. I'm gonna get him better, and we are leaving  _ together _ ,” she warned.

Miranda was stunned into silence and she took advantage of her sudden quietude to let herself out of the kitchen.

Anger carried her down the stairs. She couldn't even relish in the fact that Blake might really love her. After just a month she could read Blake’s moods almost perfectly. She could see the first hints of tension and anxiety before he had time to react. She knew him. She's also sure Blake knows her too. Blake wanted her. Blake could thrive beside her, even in California with its crowds and pollution. Blake could heal from the wounds inflicted upon him. Together, they  _ would  _ thrive, rather than rotting separately away in boredom and isolation.

Gwen opened the basement door and made herself known just as the last strum of the guitar rang throughout the room. The kids clapped enthusiastically and Blake’s smile was radiant. Gwen felt a wave of pride and affection well up in the fact that Blake had liked something she helped wrote.

“You all right?”

Gwen hadn't even noticed when Blake walked over to her. She blinked at him and nodded. “Yes.” She handed over Blake’s coat that held the hat, gloves, and scarf, he stuffed into the big pockets. “Are you?” She asked, just in case there was some lingering anxiety that needed to be addressed.

Blake’s smile faltered a bit. “I’m fine,” he lied. He zipped up his coat and pulled his hood up over his hat.

Gwen wanted to press him for answers, but not here, she decided. So she nodded and followed behind Behati up the stairs. Blake said a quiet goodbye to Miranda but otherwise didn't linger. When they got out to the cold, Gwen shivered and pressed herself closer to Blake as she climbed onto the snowmobile and wrapped her arms around him, leaning closer. Blake’s glove pressed into her sleeve before he started the engine.

She stayed quiet, not wanting to strain her voice to be heard over the engine noise anyways, and held Blake comfortingly close. Then closer because she could, because she needed it and she guessed that he did to.

 

__

* * *

 

He asked her to play him a song. 

After arriving back home, the kids were asleep on the back of the mobiles and after helping carry them both in and putting away the quads, Blake drew a bath for Adam and Behati. Adam was skeptical that his wife would want to spend any intimate space with him but Blake assured him that Behati had forgiven him the moment she found out. It was in her nature and the mistake was in the past. He reassured his brother that he worked harder than anybody he knew on their marriage and needed to forgive  _ himself  _ before anything would get better between them. So he left the couple to the reconciliation and found Gwen in the living room. She wasn't as skilled on the guitar as Adam was or him for that matter, so she decided to sing acapella.

He forgot about silence, forgot about stillness, forgot about keeping his eyes closed. Forgot about everything for a moment as her voice washed over him. He didn't utter a word, or release a breath. He just sat next to her on the couch and listened and when she finally finished, an embarrassed flush across her cheeks, breathless, he looked down, feeling the little aftershocks of her performance settle into his gut and chest, warming him as he stared into Gwen’s beautiful brown-grey eyes.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered, leaning over and cupping her cheek with one shaky hand, knuckles aching from the strain of clenching the arm of the couch the entire duration of the song.

Gwen closed her eyes and pressed into the touch like a cat needing to be petted. With a soft smile, Blake leaned down, and kissed Gwen’s forehead gently. At some point, his growing affection for her had crept up behind him, evolving into something deeper, something far more powerful, and he had to close his mouth to keep from saying something he might regret.

_ She’s leaving,  _ Blake reminded himself, sliding his hand to the back of her neck. In response, she drew close, chest pressed to chest, fingers curved over his bare thighs above his jeans. Now that the song had ended, now that Gwen stopped singing about hope and love, he had to work to fight off a growing sense of loss. They had one less time together in their future, one more memory that Blake knew wouldn’t be enough to hold him steady once Gwen was gone. He swallowed, throat tight, and closed his eyes against the growing pressure that he couldn’t face, that he couldn’t win.

When he finally could speak, he asked, “Bed?”

In answer, Gwen drew back to look at him, eyes flicking over his face. Her eyes went wide and her stare turned disconcertingly intense.

Blake looked away so she couldn't see his thoughts, and rose to a stand. “I’ll be right in.” Then, cowardly as he was, he retreated, quickly crossing the living room to go into the bathroom.   


There, he closed the door and leaned back against it, trying to convince himself that he couldn’t be falling in love. Not now. Not  _ ever.  _ And definitely not with Gwen, who was going to leave, whether Blake loved her or not.

_He did._   



	14. When the walls come down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the lovely song WALLS, by Kings of Leon, as are the lyrics to start the chapter. I recommend giving it a listen as this song was most of my inspiration for writing this chapter. This chapter is short and sets up the final chapter perfectly. The final chapter will be posted sometime tomorrow morning or during the day.

_ Your tore out my heart, you threw it away. _

 

“You shouldn’t need to do anything,” Blake said, a tiny frown drawing his brows together as he stared across the kitchen table. “I plan to be back before the storm makes it out this way. Just--the shed has been givin’ me problems and anythin’ can happen with the wind and all. And Gwen is gonna be by herself and I don't want her tryin’ to fix anythin’ or go outside so can you just--” 

“Blake. Take a breath.” Miranda laughed quietly at his rambling. “I’ll take care of everything, don't worry.”

Blake sighed and leaned back in the chair. Breakfast had come and gone as early as 4:30, starting with the venison roast Miranda had started last night and ending with a pie she had baked this morning. Outside, the weather was colder than he was used to and the sun hadn’t yet made an appearance in the sky. Last night, the whole family had driven the snowmobiles to Miranda’s house, towing the trailer of luggage and essentials that would travel with Adam and his family back to L.A.

Gwen was staying.

They’d spent the night in one of Miranda’s guest rooms, and then packed her pickup truck this morning, save for the couple of bags that Behati needed help packing for the kids. Miranda would drive him, Adam, Behati and the kids back to the little airport, where Blake had arranged for one of the planes to fly them and their luggage to the national airport. The weather was too bad for him to fly them himself off his property and the trip would take longer. It was just two days after the new year and Blake knew it was time for them to leave. They had a life out in California and he knew they were all itchin’ to get back to it. Including, Gwen.

He didn’t want her to go. But he would never voice that to her. She decided to stay for a couple more weeks on her own and Blake had no idea how in the hell they were going to even start the conversation about what would happen when she needed to get back to her job and her kids--the life she had before he rudely interrupted it.

Miranda smiled reassuringly at him and slipped a bit of pie crust under the table to her dog. “It’s not a problem, really. And if you remember anything else you need me to do, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thanks.” Blake focussed on her and smiled, reaching across the table to take her hands. “You’ve been the best friend I could ever ask for, Ran. I mean it...for years...you’ve been so good to me and I only hope you know I wanted to be the same for you.”

Blinking back the tears that had been threatening all morning, she squeezed his hands and said, “I wish it was me.” She said quietly.

Blake swallowed and nodded. “I know.”

Miranda laughed then, wiping away her tears and turned her smile on him. “Share a beer with me?”

“It's like five in the morning.” Miranda gave him a look. “Why not.” He conceded.

Miranda stood and walked to the fridge, pulling out two sweet bears from the top. Blake twisted them both open with a large hand as she sat back down.

“I forgot how much I loved this stuff.” He said, taking his first sip in months.

“Luke bought twenty cases of this stuff for New Years. I had to pay him just for one.” She smirked and Blake chuckled.

They sat in comfortable silence, admiring the quietness and serenity of the morning. It was Miranda who broke the spell first.

“So...you never--I never asked because I assumed it was just how you were--private and all but you never told me--”

“Miranda.”

“You do drugs.” She blurted out.

Blake’s eyes widen and he cleared his throat roughly. “Did. I did do drugs. I'm--I’m tryin’ to stay clean.”

His friend looked at a loss for words.

“Why didn't you--how come you never told me? All these years…”

“It's not somethin’ I talk about. And when was I gonna tell you? When is the right time to tell someone you’re a drug addict? It's not like that information scares people off or anythin'.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“It's fine, Miranda. I am. And I’m sorry you felt like I was tryin’ to keep it from you or lying about who I was.”

“Right. Apology accepted.”

They stared at each other awkwardly until soft footsteps roused Blake from Miranda’s stilted gaze. Gwen shuffled into the kitchen quietly, arms hugging her middle, sleepy eyed and hair a pretty mess. “Good morning,” she mumbled.

“Good morning,” he smiled softly at her. Gwen still looked half asleep as she made her way over to him. She stood behind his chair and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hands gently rubbing the shirt over his chest in slow movements as she rested her head on top of his. He chuckled. “Maybe it’s still nighttime for you.” She hummed. “You want breakfast?”

“I want you.”

Blake looked at Miranda briefly and cleared his throat. “How about I go finish up the last of the packing and you can eat and then take a warm shower,” Blake said agreeably. Gwen made her way down the side of his head and looked sternly at him, eyes sparkling. “Don’t take too long.”

“Wouldn't dream of it. Clean your plate when you’re done here.”

“She doesn’t have to,” Miranda protested.

“Yes, she does. I’ll be in the bedroom.” Blake stood up only to lean down and kiss each of them on the cheek before leaving Miranda’s warm, cluttered kitchen.

__

* * *

 

Gwen washed her plate and spoon. She didn't need to be told to do her dishes in the first place but she knew why Blake had demanded it from her. He knows she doesn't particularly like Miranda; he just doesn't know exactly why. And besides the fact that Miranda has made it clear that she wants Blake, Gwen doesn't really know either. There's just something about her that rubs the mother of two the wrong way. She doesn't like the idea of leaving Blake here with her. It's part of the reason why she didn't go back with Adam and Behati. She doesn't like the fact that Miranda has known Blake longer than her and yet she really doesn't  _ know _ him at the same time. She just doesn't like her. So while she washed her dishes, and Miranda wrapped and refrigerated the leftovers, Gwen stayed completely silent. Then, a few minutes after the front door had banged closed, signalling that Blake was out packing the truck again, Miranda said, “Gwen...”

She almost dropped her glass in the sink but caught it just in time. “Yes?” 

“I--he….are you really going to take him away?”

Not expecting the question, nor the soft tone of her voice when she did, Gwen placed the scrubber and dish back down, drying her hands quietly with a towel. “I intend to.” She looked back over her shoulder to the refrigerator and smiled. “I know you’re friends and that you...care about him. I’m not going to hurt Blake, so there’s no need to be worried about that. But I think he's wasting his life here and I can't know him and let him do that without at least trying to stop it.”

“Is that what he wants?” Miranda let the refrigerator door swing closed and turned towards her.

Gwen stopped in her tracks realizing that she never really _asked_ Blake in the first place--if he wanted to come with her. She just assumed. “I know he wants to stay clean,” was all she could think to say. 

“But that's not what I asked. Have you ever thought about the fact that he always says you’re leaving and not the other way around. Blake won't move back there with you.” Miranda said with an ugly smirk.

Taking the bait, Gwen smiled sharply at the woman. “You seem really sure about that.”

“I am.”

Gwen resisted the urge to snap at her. “You didn't even know he had a drug problem until a couple of days ago. You really don't know anything when it comes to Blake.”

“I know the last thing Blake wants is someone trying to fix him. I knew that this whole time and that's why I never tried. You need him fixed to be with him and he rather be broken, picking up all his pieces than allow you to start putting them back together.”

A month at Blake’s side had taught her some measure of self-control, so she just made a cursory effort to nod and smile while she carried on before releasing a deep breath. “You never tried to fix him because you didn't know how. Because he didn't want you to.  _ That’s  _ the difference between me and you.”

“You know what a life with you would be like for him? Normal. Blake doesn't want to be normal. Blake doesn't want anyone to settle for him. That's why we’ve continued to be friends. Cause I don't settle for Blake. I'm not better than him. We’re the same. You’re some girl from California who works for his brother’s famous record label. I bet you live in a nice house, with nice cars, and had a glorified nanny for your kids. You can get any guy with a snap of your fingers and yet, you chose Blake. Even Blake doesn't even believe that. So why are you still here? Is this some charity case? You felt bad for the broken soldier and now you want to save him?  _ Fix  _ him?” Miranda mocked harshly.

Gwen bit her tongue. “What's wrong with wanting to save him?”

“He was a  _ soldier.  _ He didn't need saving, he was the one saving other people. He doesn't need you.”

“You don't know what he needs.” Gwen said less confidently.

Miranda gaze bore into her. “Neither do you.”

Gwen shook her head.

“Just admit it.” Miranda pushed on. “Admit that you were bored and the moment you met Blake, you saw a conquest. You saw a goal, something to fix--”

“I didn't--”

“Something to distract you from your own miserable life. What happened to you, Gwen? What messed  _ you  _ up so bad that you would ruin another person’s life to make yourself feel better? Just admit that you don't love him and all you wanted was to say you healed a man when no one else could--”

“Stop! Just stop!” Gwen looked over at her, chest heaving, eyes watering. “I--yes. At first...at first I wanted to fix him. I shouldn’t have...I mean, the way I--It started out that way but now I love him. I do love him.”

“Would you love him broken?” Miranda asked bluntly.

Gwen faltered. After more than a decade in marriage with Gavin, Gwen was working under the assumption she was largely immune from the insecurities that plague new relationships. With Blake, she had to deal with his insecurities and none of her own. For as long as they had known each other, they always proceeded with an air of permanence, of inevitability, of...dedication, perhaps. Gwen feels like she was too caught up in trying to erase his insecurities that she hadn't recognized her own. It's hard to love broken things--even harder when it was a person. It's hard to stare at all the pieces and all the cracks in each one and see how many times he needed her and she wasn't there.

She felt water droplets wet her hands and realized they were her own tears. It felt like hours had passed by before she could open her mouth to give a response.

The front door slamming shut saved her from having to. Gwen wiped at her eyes quickly. Blake came into her blurry view and Gwen missed the anguish on his own face, the way his eyes crumbled, the way he quickly shielded it from the woman in the room. She missed the way the front door slammed shut instead of opened. She missed the way he stood there, listening behind the wall partition, barely breathing as the two women bickered. She missed it all as she kept her head down. “I'm gonna go take that shower.” Briskly, she dried off her hands once again and then tossed the towel aside, walking out of the room without a second glance at her lover.


	15. Did you run away, I don't need to know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is from the beautiful song Where's my love, by SYML, as are the lyrics to start the chapter. I recommend giving it a listen as this song was most of my inspiration for writing this chapter. This is the last chapter for this story and I just wanted to say thank you from the bottom of my heart everyone who has read and commented. It means the world to me -JL

_Does she know that we bleed the same?  
Don't wanna cry but I break that way, cold sheets, but where's my love?_

 

Blake couldn't recall ever being a religious individual. He had killed too many people in combat, injected too many drugs in his veins, to ever be devout. He refused to go to his knees in prayer and only ever found himself kneeling for a bag of white powder.

Blake stopped going to church when he turned eighteen. Started worshipping the devil when he came back to American soil. That was when he found cocaine. The drug was a religious experience in its own right. Nothing could make him drop to his knees quicker than a gram of it. The high was exquisite and Blake chased it like a worshiper seeking penance. There was the one instance in which he went too far, took too much too fast and then he was seeing the white light at the end of the tunnel, except it was the bright fluorescent lights directly over his hospital bed and the stream of tears down Adam’s face.

He got clean for awhile but then that endless bright light was within his reach again. He had met Gwen.

_Gwen_. Sex with Gwen had been a divine revelation.

Skin almost as pale as cocaine and just as sweet on the palate. Gwen was more than a marvel, more than a wonder, and unequivocally stronger than any addiction Blake had ever suffered. She was temptation. She was the apple in the Garden of Eden; the forbidden fruit that Blake knew he shouldn't consume, yet he had done so repeatedly with the obstinate greed of someone who knows they're doing wrong but is helpless to stop it. Gwen’s skin tasted like satisfaction after a binge, and fucking her reminded Blake of a time when he would sink into a tight, warm sleep while liquid snow pumped through his veins.

Gwen was his church. He would drop to his knees if only to lick the ground at her feet, tangle his arms around her legs so she could not fly away. Her taste was bittersweet and heady like the wine in the cup the priest would place against one’s lips. It was otherworldly, about as close to heaven as Blake would get.

He would even go as far and say that she saved him. She wanted him clean-- _no she wants you fixed_ \--and Blake tried very hard to make that happen. He wanted to be better for her, if not for himself. He wanted to earn her vulnerability and every secret she still kept buried underneath smooth layers.

“Show me,” Blake wanted to say, to plead. “Show me the way to eternal bliss like they preach in the Bible.” Instead, Gwen had opened her legs to him, and Blake had no doubt that he’d found what he’d been seeking for years. Gwen parted her inviting lips and Blake fell into them with the unrepentant intent to partake to his heart's desire. Full lips merged with his own and Blake passed his hands eagerly over smooth flesh, and pale skin. He needed this.

He never appreciated benediction until Gwen was saying his name, letting it float upon a low, strangled moan like a sordid prayer, or the way her delicate fingers would dig into the wings of Blake’s shoulder blades on a hard thrust. No amount of prayer could save him from his downward spiral at that point, the final fall into Gwen that he experienced when he finally reached the pinnacle of their joining. Blake’s stomach clenched and his muscles tensed, and the adrenaline was enough to send him to hell and back. Gwen’s belly arching against the line of his own body, curving like a bow with the force of her orgasm, what more could a god give him that he didn't already have?

Gwen Stefani had already given him everything.

And then she took it away with silence.

It's funny how you could destroy someone’s confidence without ever uttering a word. It's almost ironic. How Blake truly surrendered to Gwen and felt for the first time the seed that had been planted in his chest since his first encounter with her began to grow and bloom until Blake could hardly breath past the swell of unfamiliar sentiment. He’d been afraid to name it, so he did what he’s always done when confronted with things he did not understand. He buried himself in his addiction and severed all thoughts. It was only small moments, times when she smiled so sweetly at him, when she sang so softly in his ear, or washed his scars with a gentle hand that Blake, afterwards in the bath, would realize what she was and what he was supposed to be. Blake washed Gwen’s body with all the gentleness and knowing strokes of a man familiar with his lover’s body. Gwen was magnificent, a perfect fit in the ‘V' of his legs. Had Blake believed in a creator, then he’d be convinced that Gwen was made explicitly for him. Soft, supple skin and red lips, burning brown eyes and golden hair. What more, he wondered again, could a god give him that he didn't already have?

* * *

 

  
_All you wanted was to say you healed a man when no one else could._

The words played over and over, and even though Gwen was sure that Miranda had been trying to rile her up, it didn't take the sting out of her words. The statement rang true. To a certain extent, the prospect of doing what no one could was enticing. He did interest her. He was a puzzle. But she never got close to him for the sake of playing some game or winning some prize.

He had just got back from dropping his family off at the airport. The sun was still out but barely shining. Gwen had stayed to herself in the guest bedroom, hating how she had to stay in the same house as Miranda, feeling like a trapped animal with her predator just in the other room. When Blake came for her, Gwen smiled. He didn't return it and Gwen felt something heavy drop in the pit of her stomach. Gwen followed him out of the bedroom and to the kitchen where she had to witness a long hug and a lingering kiss on his cheek between him and Miranda. The younger woman had whispered something in his ear that made Blake smile and Gwen saw red.

Her bad mood reared its ugly head again and it stayed with her until they got back to the house.

“Stop it,” Blake hissed, startling her. They just got through the front door and he was even more cross than before. Gwen’s blood boiled. Shouldn't she be the one angry? Something must have happened with Adam to put Blake in such a bad mood.

Gwen watched him with wary eyes as he took off his outerwear aggressively, unable to swallow past the lump in her throat.

“Not sure why you think you should be the mad one after what you just did.”

Blake’s face was pinched when he turned to her, and his mouth set to a snarl. “What are you talkin’ about?”

Gwen fell into the trap easily. “Oh, me? Nothing really, just talking about what the fuck I just witnessed. Not everyday my boyfriend begins flirting right in front of me with a woman he clearly knows wants to sleep with him.” She said it calmly, but her words were brusque and forcefully polite. Blake didn't appreciate it one bit.

“The stupid things that come out of your mouth...” Blake grit out, his teeth scraping loudly in the quiet quarters. “You’re crazy if you think I'd want anything more to do with Miranda than what we already have. She's my _friend_.”

“Some friend.” Gwen retorted.

“Some girlfriend.” Blake bit back.

Gwen nodded, pursing her lips as she kept her gaze riveted to the floor. “That so,” she asked.

“Look at me,” Blake demanded, his voice a low, deep command that made every muscle in Gwen’s body tense towards him. A hand grabbed her chin firmly and wrenched her head up, and before she knew what had happened, Blake was standing before her, intruding her space. “Why are you overreacting?”

Gwen slapped his hand away and turned her head. “Because Blake, I don't like her. She wants you and she's--” Gwen paused and flicked her eyes up to catch Blake’s gaze.

“She’s what?”

“Nothing--I…”

“She's right.”

Gwen snapped her eyes to him, his intense stare doing nothing to subside her nerves. He continued when she couldn't find the words to respond.

“You asked me what I was afraid of, why I was scared to leave with you. Miranda’s right. It would be normal. I've never lived a normal day in my life. I don't know how to be that. And what's even worse is that I'm scared to even try. I'm scared to fail and I’m scared I’m going to disappoint you again and again. Gwen I’m scared that you need me fixed to love me.”

“I don't--”

“You do. And I tried to ignore it but the truth is...I'm not ready to get better.”

“You are.”

“I'm not. You want to control me. You need to control where this goes and my behavior because it's the one thing you couldn't do when it came to your husband.”

He stared at her with sad eyes and Gwen turned away from it.

“I heard you. I heard the both of you.” He said quietly.

“Then you would have heard me say that it wasn't like that.”

Blake looked at her. “It was in the beginning. And even though I believe you now when you say that you love me, it doesn't change the fact that I heard you say nothing when she asked. You couldn't even answer Miranda--”

“You came in before I could--”

“Would you? I'm askin’ you now then. Would you love me if I never got better? Would you hate me if I decided to stay here? Would you stay with me?”

“Blake--”

“You can't answer it. And that's fine cause I can answer it for you. You would let me stay here and you would even drop everything to make sure you could to. Maybe for a year, maybe two, and then you wouldn't just hate me...you’d resent me.”

She shook her head.

“You would fail, Gwen. I'm a puzzle you can't solve. I'm a mess you can't fix. And when you realize that...you’ll leave me. And to tell you Gwen, I am so sick and tired of people leavin’ me.”

“I promised you I wouldn't.”

“This wouldn't be the first time someone broke their promise to me.”

Gwen wanted to scream at him. It was incredibly frustrating, not knowing what to say to make things right, unable to express how she felt, because at this point, she wasn't quite sure herself. Blake wouldn't even look at her now.

Gwen whimpered and pulled Blake around to face her, trying to get him to see, to open his eyes and see what she couldn't say. She didn't have the words, yet something bubbled up at the back of her throat and stuck there like glue.

She missed something along the way. She missed a piece or a couple of words or perhaps a touch. She wasn't doing something right, and she was going to lose him because of it. A nagging voice in the back of her head said that’s it.

There was nothing that she missed, nothing that she was doing wrong, except for everything. She still thinks of him as a puzzle, as a complicated formula she doesn't have the numbers to.

_I’m not_.

_You are_.

Gwen would spend entire nights trying to figure out emotions she thought that he would never experience in his lifetime and Miranda’s voice rings loudly in her ears.

_Is this some charity case?_

* * *

 

Blake blinked at Gwen as her hands held his face firmly. She didn't say a word, her eyes just flitted back and forth quickly like she was searching for her own answers in the pupils of his eyes. She looked as lost as he felt. So Blake went with what he knew and pushed Gwen back until she hit the island, reaching for that seemingly infinite expanse of smooth skin. He was rough, and Blake knew that he would be sorry for it later, but just right then, he needed Gwen to know what he couldn't get his mouth to say.

It sat heavily at the back of his throat, but Blake didn't know what it was…until he did.

All those times that Gwen held him, it slipped from the back of his throat to the tip of his tongue, and Blake knew.

Slowly, he slipped from Gwen’s hold and pulled away, keeping his features clear of any telling signs, though there was a storm wreaking havoc in his mind, tossing his thoughts into chaos like waves.

He watched as Gwen stared worriedly at him. Already, Blake was retreating into himself, trying to make some sense of what he felt, and what he had to do. Gwen’s fingers twitched and Blake fought the urge to reach over and grab her hand, hold it to his lips. Anxiety crashed into him, untenable and didn't let up until he walked away and slammed the door to his room.

He could hear Gwen’s slower, unsure tread across the floor, and Blake locked the door, placing his back against it.

“Blake,” Gwen called hesitantly.

“I'll be out in a minute,” he shouted through the door, glad that at least his voice didn't tremble. “I’ll be--give me a second... _please_.”

Gwen’s footsteps retreated, and Blake walked over to the dresser, pulling it open and pushing the clothes aside until he could reach the back wall. There was a tiny, inconspicuous cut out that gave under pressure from his finger and popped out, revealing a tiny space in the wall.

And just like the addict that he was, Blake had remembered several hidden spaces in his house that he kept his stashes of cocaine. Underneath the floorboard in the kid’s room, behind the mirror in the bathroom, down in the wine case, underneath the kitchen sink, in his safe...it was everywhere. The little baggy suddenly felt heavier than it should in his hand.

Blake walked backwards to sit on the edge of his bed, staring down at the white powder with pained longing. He had two options.

One: He could face himself, put it down, and try and figure out what he and Gwen had, risking his entire future to confront her.

Two: Blake could send Gwen back home with just a gram and get high as a kite alone.

The bag shook in his hand, and he realized that he was moving it, unable to still his tremors as he fought the urge to do what felt so ingrained after years of self-inflicted abuse.

Which did he want more: Gwen or the cocaine?

Better question--which would he always have?

* * *

 

Gwen stood at the end of the hallway leading to Blake’s room, more confused than she’d ever been. It almost seemed like her first time there, unsure of her place or what to do with herself.

Gwen warred with doing as Blake had asked, leaving him alone or staying outside his door until he finally opened it. It wasn't the biggest decision she’d ever made, but it certainly felt as if the outcome would determine what would happen between them next. Blake was currently over-thinking, suppressing, or whatever he did to keep from feeling anything remotely sentimental when it came to adult relationships.

The thought alone unsettled Gwen. Even though she hadn't known Blake for long, it was obvious that Blake was unfamiliar with emotions that he probably hadn't felt in years. It had certainly been an emotional night, if what happened at Miranda’s house and dropping Adam and the family off to go back to California for who knows how long this time. Then he grabbed her and held her against him and then, Blake had pulled away, and Gwen shuddered at the memory of a face wiped so thoroughly clean that there was no way he wasn't hiding something.

Gwen made her way to the door slowly, keeping her footsteps audible so that Blake would hear her coming and open the door, but it remained firmly closed.

Hesitantly, she brought her fist up to rap lightly on the door with her knuckles. “Blake...are you alright?”

Nothing but steely silence greeted her.

Another knock went unanswered, and just as Gwen was about to raise her hand to thump the door a little louder, worried now, the front door opened with a tiny creak.

“Hello?”

Miranda. Despite not liking the woman, Gwen had never been so relieved to hear her voice. Gwen retreated to the kitchen to greet her.

“Why are you here?” She asked, not unkindly.

Miranda turned to regard her with a wary look. “Adam called me because he thought Blake would still be up at my house. The storm that’s coming through just delayed their flight and Behati wants to cancel it altogether. They wanted Blake to come pick them up from the airport.” She looked around. “Where is he?”

Gwen’s voice was soft, if a bit strained at having to ask the question in the first place and then dreading the answer. “Do you have a key? I know Blake has keys for every door in case of an intruder but do you...did he give you a spare key to his bedroom.” Gwen swallowed the bile in her throat. “He's been in there since we got back, but he isn't responding when I call. I'm getting worried…”

Miranda frowned, worrying at her lip momentarily before telling Gwen to wait a moment before she carefully maneuvered back out the door. The flat remained silent in her absence, and Gwen casted a worried glance in the direction of Blake’s hallway.

Miranda was ambling back into the room shortly thereafter, her short fingers folded tightly around a key. “I left my bag outside,” she said by way of explanation, shaking her head lightly, “He has his bad days. Of course I don’t know much about them but he’s usually fine. He usually gets sad after they leave.” The soft, reminiscent undertone laced with notes of melancholia was oddly jolting to Gwen. Miranda had known him for so long, had been a part of Blake’s family for all these years. It struck Gwen then, how little she really knows about Blake. She knows the ticks, and the expressions, and all the big things that either make or ruin his day. But she doesn't know the small stuff. Like how every year before this one, Blake got sad at his brother’s departure. How could she be in so deep and know so very little about that person?

Miranda stepped forward and gently pulled her hand from her side, pressing the key gently into her palm in the same motion. “I’m gonna get his plane up and running. Let him know what's going on so we can go and picked them up.” She was being nice to Gwen and the older woman couldn't help but think that if they didn't want the same thing, they could have at least been friends.

Gwen closed her hands around the key and eased her grip from between her strong hands. “Thank you,” she said.

Miranda nodded. “He doesn't really like showing his emotions to other people…of course you already knew that. I'm sure he’s fine.”

Gwen did know that. Before Blake had shut down, he’d shown Gwen all those things, how considerate he could be, how deeply he often felt things. As caught off guard as Gwen had been with her back against the island, Blake’s reaction to their conversation was one of raw emotion. He wasn't often like that.

Miranda gave her a slight smile before she closed the door completely and Gwen turned to head towards the hallway. At the door, Gwen pressed her ear against it and was treated with the same eerie silence as before. She knocked once and said, “Blake, I'm coming in.”

Having three kids and a cheating husband elicited the possibility of taking Gwen by surprise, but doing so into speechlessness was a rare occurrence. Blake was there opening the door just as Gwen had begun to turn the key, and she froze, feeling vaguely like a child who'd gotten caught doing something she wasn't supposed to. He was blocking the entrance with his body and his upper half was tilted forward so that Gwen had to crane her neck to look up at him.

“What are you doing,” Blake asked quietly. The hallway was dim and his eyes shadowed as Gwen tried to look into them. “Where did you get that key?”

Gwen swallowed, stepping back. Blake sounded different, his voice deeper and more raspy, similar to after an orgasm. Gwen couldn't think of why he might sound that way, but she had a feeling she wouldn't like the answer. “Miranda,” Gwen replied, the contents of her stomach churning as Blake slid out of his bedroom and quickly closed the door behind him. Gwen cleared her throat and tried again, relieved that her voice remained steady. “I was worried when you didn't answer. Adam called Miranda. Their flight is delayed because of the storm and Behati doesn’t want to risk it. She's outside starting the plane up so you can go and pick them up.”

Even with the moderate lighting, Gwen could see Blake was fidgeting and there was a glistening sheen just under his nose, which Blake swiped away quickly with the back of his hand once he’d noticed her looking. He nodded and gave Gwen a strained smile, but Gwen merely blinked at it and stood back.

“I didn't mean to--I’m good, I just needed a moment.” Blake told her placatingly, though the words were stilted and gasping, unlike the usual euphonious flow of Blake’s speech. “I should help Miranda with the plane.”

Gwen moved forward, and cornered Blake against the door. She was crowding his space and knew that made him tense but Gwen was concerned, and more importantly, anxious. She reached out but Blake sidestepped her touch and was turning to head back into the kitchen.

“What--” Gwen muttered, and reached over to hit the switch on the hallway light. She reached forward and grasped Blake’s bicep and turned him. She stopped altogether. For a moment, everything stood still and all Gwen could see were two black abysmal eyes staring back at her. Blake’s pupils were dilated and opened wide, before he squeezed them closed, though Gwen wasn't sure if it was from the light or to avoid her gaze. When he opened them, they were aware and regretful, but it was too late for any of that.

With her heart in her throat, Gwen pushed past him, eschewing Blake’s attempt to pull her back. “Gwen.”

She ignored him and threw the door open, her heart racing in her chest as she confirmed what she had already concluded. On the bed, on a tray, just like all the thousands of times she’d seen it on tv, the one time she’d seen Blake, out of his mind on drugs.

She couldn't do it.

There was a line left, but it's obvious that there had been more. Tiny, white remnants were scattered across the tray, reflecting off the silver like miniature snowballs. Gwen couldn't breathe, thinking of herself standing outside the door while Blake ignored her instead to chase a high.

_Why?_ He said he was going to stop. He said he wanted to do better-- _be_ better. Was this what it boiled down to? Blake always choosing it over her?

Gwen couldn't bring herself to turn and face him, even though everything inside of her screamed that she had to leave. She needed to get out but she had nowhere to run to. He was right. He’s not ready to get better and she doesn't want to see Blake spiral down this maddening abyss. It would kill her to watch him try to crawl out of a hole that would just keep getting deeper and deeper, until he was buried in his own despair and a mountain of drugs and alcohol to make up for it. God knows how Adam did it. How he kept coming back knowing nothing would be different.

“Gwen,” Blake tried again, though his voice was quieter than before, reluctant. The tips of his finger brushed her shoulder and she cringed away as if burned. She turned to face him, staring at her heart beating out of its chest as it stood in front of her. She met Blake’s eyes. Hers burned in their sockets, holding back the sheen of tears that Gwen didn't want to admit were there.

She swallowed, and Blake’s eyes followed the movement, his hyperactive mind unable to dismiss it. “What have you done?” _To me, to us, to yourself_.

Blake placed his hands on his hips and let his eyes drop down to his feet. Gwen felt a dark, hateful rage crawling up her stomach, as he did so, scratching against her inner walls harshly. She didn't know if she had to vomit or scream. “I’m sorry,” he said to himself.

Gwen laughed sardonically. God, she was so stupid. Who falls into bed with a man they barely know, who's an addict and a wounded soldier, physically and mentally, and then is surprised when they turn about to be exactly who they are--exactly who they even say they are?

  
“Why did you do this,” Gwen asked, his eyes still holding fast to the tips of his boots. “Why, Blake?” He looked up, then, but didn't reply to her question--plea--instead, sweeping past her and picking the tray up with slightly trembling hands and jerky movements, before shoving the entire thing into the drawer of the bedside table, careful to lay it flat on the bottom. “I have to go. Adam--”

“You think you’re about to fly? You’re high, Blake.”

“I've done it before.” He snapped. “And they need me, how else are they going to get back here?”

“We’ll figure something out.”

“I'm _fine_.”

Gwen felt the urge to slap him, get his body rid of that stupid drug. “I’ll call Adam right now and tell him. How you’re high and you think flying a plane with his children in it is a smart idea.”

Blake slammed the drawer closed, making her flinch. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he turned toward her. “Just--go to Miranda’s.”

That definitely made her angry, until she finally exploded. “Why, Blake?! You want me to go so you can snort blow while I'm in her guest bedroom worrying about you fucking overdosing? Are you insane!”

Just as easily as Blake donned the persona of a perfect gentleman, he shed it with ease, falling back into familiar cynicism. “As soon as they can fly out again...you should go with them.”

And there it was. Blake’s habits were threatened so he would do any and everything to distance himself from anyone attempting to intervene with the drugs. Adam was familiar with the tactic and didn't allow it to deter him--Gwen..not so much. “Blake...no. I know what you're doing and I'm not going to let it happen.”

“Gwen--”

“No!” Despite the betrayal and disappointment that she felt, Gwen couldn't bring herself to leave without making an effort with him. “Don't do this; don't push me away.”

Blake turned his back towards her, one hand moving slowly through his hair, a tell of his nervousness and vulnerability. Quietly, he said, “You want something from me that I can’t give. Let's just call this what it is.” Blake paused, and the next time he spoke, his voice was thick with self-loathing. “We’re wasting each other’s time. This is what I am, Gwen. I'm an addict, and despite what you've come to believe, I’m not a good person.”

Gwen closed the short distance between them, feeling her heart swell for the man who didn't know himself as well as he thought he did. She pressed her forehead against the line of Blake’s back, exhaling as it tensed beneath the touch.

“Please, look at me.”

Blake hesitated but turned to stare down at her with dark eyes. She smiled, laying a hand on Blake’s chest. His heart rate was elevated, and Gwen couldn't be sure if it was the drugs or their proximity. She raised a hand to the back of his head, tangling in the chaotic curls there before she tugged his head down. Blake followed willingly, his eyes slipping closed as he stepped forward to wrap his arm around Gwen’s waist, drawing her near. Gwen circled her free arm around Blake’s shoulder until they were embracing fully.

He was going to self-destruct on her watch and it would kill Gwen in the process.

* * *

 

It was around midnight when Blake’s family made it back to the house. Miranda had helped her arrange for a pilot to fly them back from the airport while Blake slept it off, and then Miranda drove all the way in the storm to pick them up from the terminal. Adam found Gwen sprawled on Blake’s bed wide awake. He was sleeping soundly beside her, still fully dressed. Once the effects of the drugs abated, Blake fully crashed and hadn't bothered to change or move. Gwen drew up the covers and put him to bed as soon as Blake began snoring lightly. Upon seeing Adam’s cautious and inquiring look, Gwen eased out of the bed and gathered the tray of cocaine from the bedside table, casting furtive glances at the sleeping man, before shaking her head at Adam. He got the message and Gwen couldn’t look at the anguish on the younger man’s face anymore.

She watched as Adam flushed the drugs down the drain, willing the heaviness on her chest to ease. When he turned to the sink to wash the remnants of the cocaine from the tray, he caught sight of her tears in the mirror.

“We’ll get him back in a program.”

Gwen shut her eyes because she no longer felt like she could make those decisions with him. She was afraid for Blake, and if she were to be honest, she was also frightened for herself. She cared about him, loved him, but would it be wise to keep pursuing a relationship with an addict? Wouldn't that mean that Blake’s first love would always be the drugs? Isn’t that what he was trying to show her-- _tell_ her in the first place.

He was going to keeping choosing his vices over family and love. He was trying to push her away and the heaviness on her chest was the reality that maybe he had already succeeded.

Adam turning the tap for cool water startled her from her bleak thoughts. She left the bathroom as Adam leaned down to catch the water with cupped hands, splashing it over his face, probably in an attempt to achieve clarity.

Gwen stripped down to her underwear and bra and climbed in on the side of the bed that Blake’s long limbs weren't occupying and pulled the covers up to her chest, crossing her arms over her sternum as she blinked up at the ceiling.

She had so many questions for Blake. Gwen thought back to the highly questionable stare he had settled on her after their row in the kitchen. She wondered if anything she said might have triggered Blake into a relapse. She had her suspicion that it was really only about giving her another reason to leave him.

These thoughts kept her awake into the early morning, until her eyes burned with the lack of sleep. Truth was, she was afraid to close her eyes. She was afraid that Blake would awake sometime in the night and finish what he started. Gwen chastised herself for having so little faith in her lover, but Blake hadn't exactly made excuses for the drugs and recognized the hunger in his gaze when Blake would allow his glassy eyes to stray to the bedside table. It made her skin prickle with anxiety.

At eight, Gwen got up and greeted Behati with a small smile as she helped make coffee and toast. The kids were outside playing in the snow with Adam. It was only a couple minutes later, Gwen was reading her book at the kitchen table when the sound of the bathroom door shutting pulled her attention away. Gwen folded the paper between her fingers nervously and waited for Blake to emerge, unsure of how things had changed in the light of day.

Twenty minutes later, Blake was stepping out the bathroom in a fresh shirt and sweatpants, the smell of his aftershave trailing after him as he walked into the sitting room. He fiddled with the draw strings on his pants for a moment and seemed hesitant to meet her eyes, but finally did.

“Good morning,” said Blake, his gaze intense as he took in the reddish hue of her eyes, the bags beneath them.

Gwen smiled, though nothing in it was particularly pleasant or inviting. “Morning, Blake.”

It was the most awkward that it had been since Gwen’s initial meeting with him, and it unsettled her. She wasn't sure what to say. Fortunately, Blake began first.

Clearing his throat, Blake walked across the room until he was standing at the window, pulling the curtains back slightly to look out at his brother and his niece and nephew. He looked like he was an otherworldly being in this light, all tall and sharp, strong angles. But now, Gwen realized, it had never been more clear that Blake was just a man; a man who was unhappy.

“B...can I talk to Gwen alone for a moment?” Blake asked quietly.

Behati nodded even though he wasn't looking at her and retreated to her own bedroom quietly.

When she was gone, finally, Blake folded his arms over his chest and turned to her, dropping his eyes so that they didn't meet hers when he began to speak. “You weren't meant to see me like that--again. Gwen. I…I owe you an apology.”

His hand still flinched. “I thought I'd wake up to your bags packed and your necklace on my bedside table, but you're still here.” Blake sounded perplexed, and when his pale eyes flicked up to connect with Gwen’s after staring at the sunflower necklace he had given her, still around her neck, they were flecked with curiosity. “I'm not sure what to think anymore.”

Blake’s fingers were back to his strings, toying with the fabric nervously. When the silence grew uncomfortable, Gwen cleared her throat, her eyes glued to her folded hands in front of her. “I think I should leave.”

In her peripheral, Gwen could see Blake’s back immediately straighten, his eyes zero in on her face, but Gwen didn't let it distract her.

“No,” Blake said simply.

Gwen pursed her lips, nodding down at her hands before she moved her head to stare squarely into Blake’s eyes. “You can't tell me what to do, Blake.” Gwen had to pause and swallow down the swell of emotions clawing up her throat. “I think it's for the best. Isn't that what you wanted. Why you did this to us...”

A swish of fabric was the only only warning Gwen had before Blake was kneeling before her. She gasped at the sight. One hand wrapped around her thigh and the other clawed at her hip, effectively making Gwen angle her head down until there was nowhere else to look but into bottomless azure eyes. When the light hit them just right, Blake's eyes became a stormy grey that melted Gwen’s insides until she was all but slumping forward, hands on his shoulders, unable to tear herself away.

“Please don't leave me,” Blake pleaded, and when Gwen began to pull away, he held her tighter, hissing, “Listen! I don't need you to save me, Gwen. I'm fine. It was a moment of weakness on my part and it won't happen again.”

Gwen shook her head. Hope rose and she crushed it down swiftly, because it never got her anywhere good. She didn't want empty words, she needed assurance. Gwen bent over and moved her hands to his face. “Why?”

Blake sighed, and Gwen felt his mint-scented breath breeze across her cheek and tickle her ear. “Gwen,” he cautioned.

“Tell me why, Blake, why did you do it? Is it because of our fight? Miranda? What? Why couldn't you just have talked to me? I was here!” It all came tumbling out and though Gwen worried that it would draw Blake further into himself, she felt that she had a right to know. Despite having a feeling she already knew. He did it because he believes Miranda. He believes he’s not good enough for her. He wanted to put the decision in her hands to leave because he's too much of a coward to do it on his own--to say it and have her actually believe it.

"Whatever it is that is going through your head, you’re wrong," Blake announced, standing up now.

"Really? I don't think I am.”

"I said I was sorry," Blake snarled.

"What exactly are you apologizing for," Gwen said frankly and Blake turned on his heel to pace the room. "God your mood swings after you come down are astounding.”

Blake shook his head. "Don’t make fun of me," he snapped whirling around suddenly. "Are you that stupid?"

"What the hell are you talking about," she cried.

"It was a mistake. I thought--it doesn’t matter what I thought. I didn't mean it." Blake caught the edge of the back of the couch in a death grip, bowing over it.

"Then why--"

"You know why!” Blake suddenly yelled.

“Then why won't you let me do it.”

“Gwen--”

“You said it yourself. You’re gonna kill me. Give me a chance at least. Let me go.”

“No--”

“Why?”

“Just give me another chance. I'm not ready right now to be your man but I will be...just...give it time. Don't leave."

“You want me here but you can't have me here is that what you’re saying?"

Blake straightened up suddenly. "When I am finished with it we will. We can be together fully.”

"With the drugs?" Gwen asked staring at Blake with disbelief.

He nodded once.

Gwen stepped forward. "When exactly will that be? Should I book it in my calendar?"

Seeming surprised Blake flinched his head back.

"I am not your stupid trophy you get at the end of the finish line!" Gwen hissed incensed beyond belief.

"What--”

"Is that it?" Gwen asked staring at Blake, "Is that why you did all this, shown an interest because you've put me on some fucking pedestal like your favourite toy? I don't just exist, waiting for you to feel ready to move on to the next part of your life. Do you have any idea how cruel and selfish that is? If you don't want me now, then let me go."

Blake went white.

"That's it, isn't it?" Gwen let out a disbelieving laugh, "Oh my god! You don't want me at the moment, but you can't stomach the idea that when you do want this, it'll be too late."

Blake’s mouth worked a few times but nothing came out.

Dazed, Gwen turned and walked out of the room and into the kitchen. She managed to get the kitchen sink door open before Blake’s hand clamped around her wrist.

"You are the one thing in this world that I love," Blake hissed sounding desperate, "I--”

"No I'm not!" Gwen yelled. Infuriated she reached into the cabinet and rummaged for the bag she knew was there, had found when she was looking for cleaning supplies once upon a time ago. She found a tiny bag in the back under the pipes and stood back up. "This," she said holding it up to Blake, "This is the one thing you love. This and that," she said flicking a finger at Blake’s chest, referring to himself. "I don't even come close." She threw the bag at Blake who caught it and tossed it onto the counter.

"You don't know how it is for me,” he sneered. “I can’t just walk away from it and if I do, I can’t risk being useless and suffering from withdrawal."

"The world does not revolve around you!" Gwen pushed at his chest.

"But mine revolves around you!" Blake pleaded, and Gwen paused closing her eyes. "Everyone knows it. Everyone sees it.” Blake dropped to his knees once again in front of her. "I need to find a way out of this. I will, I'll find a way, I just need time. I love you, Gwen. I’ve never--I love _you_.”

Gwen stared at him, at the bloodshot eyes, at the marks on his arm from where his sleeves had ridden up and at the spasms in his hands. Then looked up to his face and at the pleading expression, the slight edge that showed he thought he had made a convincing enough argument and was about to relax.

Gwen leaned forward. "You sound like a junkie," she hissed.

The words hit Blake like a slap Gwen would never deliver and Blake swayed backwards looking stunned. Taking the chance Gwen stood up as Blake remained kneeling. His clear eyes widened in offense and anger. Then, he blinked and though his eyes still blazed heatedly, his features were perfectly blank. Blake stood, also, and stepped forward until there was less than a foot of space between them. Blake breathed furiously, reaching forward to grip Gwen’s wrist in a tight hold. She allowed the contact, but kept her eyes down and head angled away. If she looked up, if she stared into his eyes, she would relent, and she didn't want to. "Gwen, look at me."

Unable to refuse him, Gwen peered up at her lover from beneath her brows, breathing heavily through her nose, forcing herself to remain steady.

"Blake--"

Blake leaned close until their lips were merely a hair's breadth away, and his nose was alongside her own. "I don't care about Miranda or any other woman, and neither should you, but this," Blake said sotto voce, and tightened his hold on Gwen’s wrist, though not enough to hurt but to bring attention to, "Is why I never let my heart out of it's cage." His thumb skimmed over her pulse in a delicate press, and Gwen was sure Blake could hear her heart thumping aloud. "This is why I never got involved."

Gwen was panting, her shoulders rising and falling, and Blake’s eyes were flitting between her lips and eyes, his expression, an unpredictable tempest. "Then why am I here," Gwen asked in one quivering breath.

Blake froze. His eyes moved between hers, searching. His eyes narrowed and the small, horizontal divot on the bridge of his nose appeared as it always did when he was frustrated. "Because…”

He paused, and shifted on his feet, pulling his hand away from Gwen’s wrist to run his fingers through his hair in exasperation. He growled at himself, annoyed.

_Would you love him broken?_

_He’s not a puzzle._

It wasn't up to her to fix him. That was his job and she certainly couldn’t stay until he figured out how to do it. She had her own life, her own family, her own demons. The decision was instantaneous.

"I don't want this, Blake," Gwen stated quietly, definitely. "I'm not--” Gwen nearly choked on the lie, but she had to say the words, even if each one carved bloody lines down her chest. "I'm not in love with you."

She heard Blake’s breath catch, a tiny snatch of air that Gwen didn't need to hear to know that Blake was well and truly surprised--hurt.

Gwen had to remind herself that she was doing it for Blake, to help him, his future, himself.

"You're lying, why are you lying," Blake suddenly asked, his voice dipped low and unsteady, lacking its usual strength as his hands came up to grip her waist. Gwen attempted to back away, but Blake only held her tighter in his grasp. "Liar," he breathed. "You can't even look at me."

_Liar_ , the word settled at the bottom of her stomach, a cold, hefty weight.

"I have to go, Blake," Gwen lifted his hands and gently pried his spindly fingers off her body. Her skin prickled where they touched, and Gwen had to force herself to let go or else she'd never leave. She turned to the door.

Every stride away from Blake felt like bullet wounds exchanged between them.

"Gwen," Blake whispered, and the word carried everything that Gwen didn't want to see in his expression. "Gwen," he said louder, and his footsteps carried him closer. "Gwen, don't--"

Adam was just outside. He would take her away now. He’d find a way to get her back to California, just as long as she didn't have to step foot back in this house. Gwen walked through the open door and refused to look back.

"Coward," Blake yelled at her retreating back. "Coward, liar!"

Something crashed behind her as Gwen clamored down the porch stairs with blurry eyes and panting breaths. It was cold. She had forgotten her coat. She felt empty.

"Liar!"

There was another crash and Adam whipped his head around as Gwen reached the bottom of the stair. Adam flinched and placed a hand at the back of his neck at another loud crash from inside the house.

She cried, hearing the word over and over again, repeating it to herself as she stared out and saw nothing but white. White snow, white trees, his cocaine. She hated the color white.

_Liar_.

The word would follow her home to L.A., and from there to the airport.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know many of you hate this ending and it's understandable. However, I tried to be realistic about their relationship. Gwen has a whole life back in L.A and Blake has to deal with the one he made for himself in Canada. They couldn't have been together...NOW. The timing is just not right. That's why I have dedided to write a sequel. You want a happy ending and so do I. The sequel will be that for you all. Once again, thank you reading, it's been such an honor to write for this lovely fandom. The first chapter of the sequel should be up by tomorrow. I don't want to keep you guys waiting too long. Let me know what you loved or hated in the comments section :)

**Author's Note:**

> -JL


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